Connor and Nines Finally Learn What Pining Is
by ElReyCiervo
Summary: Almost every person in the world has an epiphany-like moment when they realize "Oh my God, this person is attractive to me" about someone. That moment slams both RKs over the head like a falling building and they're helpless to do anything about it. [OR] Connor and Nines Pine BIG TIME [Part 3/? of Otherworldly AU]
1. Those Mods Shouldn't Be THAT Attractive

Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human

Rating: T

Words: 4,549

Warnings: language

* * *

Connor Needs Help Because Those Mods Shouldn't Be THAT Attractive

In the wake of the android revolution, many things had changed, to Connor's understanding. His kind had gained autonomy, the right to work, the right to vote, the right to own property (even though there were people that still denied them), and many others that Markus was working hard to obtain for them every day.

Thirium-based foods had risen to popularity incredibly quickly due to companies pouncing on the idea of a new group of people whom they could make a profit. Connor did not complain about this as the idea of eating was fascinating. Because the feeling was not one he was partial in experiencing often, he did not eat to the frequency as other androids were wont to do.

Nines, for example, had discovered he _loved_ eating.

His successor snacked on thirium-based foods almost constantly. Connor found that endearing as he was aware there were not many things in which Nines allowed himself to indulge. It was a rarity when Nine's breath _did not_ smell like whatever food he had been eating, but it was not a bad thing as it was often sweet.

That was not the only thing Connor had discovered about his predecessor, oh no.

There was something even worse.

(Or better, depending whom he asked.)

While thirium foods had boomed post-revolution, modifications were an equally popular rival. Soon, it had become commonplace to see androids with all varieties of mods ranging from hair colors that were not the normal human set (purple and neon blue were the top two most requested), height adjustments, and other cosmetic changes.

As it turned out, Nines jumped on the modding bandwagon quicker than anyone expected.

Connor did not find that out until the DPD Halloween party.

He kind of wished he had found out sooner.

* * *

After being forced to take a mandatory week of paid medical leave—because according to Captain Fowler, "being shot in the damn head means _at least_ one week, Connor, and I don't want to hear your whole 'functioning within normal parameters' spiel either" meant that he had been required to stay at home. To his fortune, he had Sumo to keep him company along with Hank when he returned home early from desk duty.

The duty of the damned, if he were to quote him.

As luck would have it—Hank had told him that 'Lady Luck' had a mean vendetta against him for some reason—that one week had turned into a one-month leave.

The injury had caused several unexpected repercussions. The lingering pain had been somewhat expected—although his calculated probability of having little to no pain had been higher than the outcome—but the memory problems and glitches in his jaw and eye had been troubling, to say the least.

Until just last week, his short-term memory files had kept corrupting themselves to the point where he had problems remembering small, though important details. The risk had been too great for Connor to work when the problem had first been discovered, hence the extended medical leave. The injury had grazed a portion to the actuator that controlled his jaw, so he had been left with a jaw the clenched around his words sometimes. He understood, then, how humans could develop tension and stress headaches from constantly clenching their teeth. In addition, the shot to his head had caused a thirium bleed to his optical unit, rendering it useless. Because of his model line and his prototype nature, it had taken a while to procure a replacement as no other units were available for his RK800 model. (Nines had offered his as they were compatible, but Reed had complained that he did not want a pirate for a partner. When Nines had instead offered to just swap optical units, his ice blue for Connor's deadened black and blue one, Reed had just made a disgusted face while Hank had claimed that "swappin' parts like some old computer seems like a sure-fire way to contract an android STD or something.")

Nines's rebuttal that androids could not contract STDs of any form had been ignored.

Needless to say, Connor had gone several weeks without a functioning optical unit.

The android detective was just relieved and happy that he had managed to be repaired enough to even attend this event. Sans the continuing problem with his jaw actuator, still present but on the mend, he was within 96.8% efficiency. This would be Nines and Connor's first time at the department Halloween party, so of course Connor found himself quite excited.

There were numerous decorations strewn throughout the bullpen—black paper bats taped near everyone's desks, a little candy dish by the receptionist desks, and plastic pumpkins dotting themselves in various spots. Someone was streaming a "spooky" soundtrack playlist from their phone into the wireless speakers, and the song that was streaming currently was one that he had heard three times before. Nonetheless, the rhythms of the remixed version of "Spooky Scary Skeletons" was pleasing to his audio processors.

He looked around, happy to see most of his coworkers in good spirits. Detective Reed and Nines, who had arrived earlier, were making conversation with Officer Chen. Hank, despite his grumpiness in coming to the party, was surprisingly behaving himself as he talked with Captain Fowler at his desk. Connor had a high suspicion that the spiked punch—with a low alcohol content of 4.5%—in the Lieutenant's hand had something to do with it. It was the first time in the past few months that Hank allowed himself to have something alcoholic, still on the mend from years of hard alcoholism. Connor was proud of Hank's progress with his recovery.

"Connor!" Officer Chen waved him over to her, Gavin, and Nines's spot at a corner table near the breakroom. Although still in uniform as she had just completed her shift, she had apparently managed to find some time to paint her face and turn herself into what appeared to be a stitched-up Frankenstein—or more correctly, Frankenstein's monster.

_Oh, how delightful!_

"Good evening, Officer Chen, Detective Reed," he nodded to the two of them with a smile, the good mood of the party being quite infectious. Internally, he sent a ping to Nines along with the projected feelings of joy and excitement. For his humans, who were distinctly lacking compatible internal communication software and hardware, he gave an audible, "Nines."

On the outside, Nines, whose costume of choice was a simple combination of a vest, cape, and painted blue line dripping from the corner of his mouth (a wonderfully simple vampire costume), dipped his head with a tweak of his lips. The ping he sent in return had the expected calmness and happiness, but there was an undercurrent of something less expected.

Was that…_mischievousness_? From _Nines_?

As much as the curious RK800 wanted to inquire about it, he came to the conclusion that Nines would tell him when he was ready. Whenever that would be—his predecessor had been slowly growing a devious streak as of recent, wordplay not intended.

Nines handed him a clear plastic cup of an orange liquid. Observing its viscosity as he rolled it around in the cup, Connor took note that it was of a similar level as thirium. Without taking a sample of it, however, he could not say that it was thirium for a fact. (Hank had informed him with great vehemence that it was 1) gross and 2) rude for him to stick his fingers in random things and sample them in front of people.) Now, he enjoyed being contrary with Hank on a good day, but he refrained from sampling in order to behave himself. "What is this? Surely you would not hand me a human drink, so I am assuming this is thirium-based."

"It is dyed thirium," Nines said, taking a sip of his own drink. "The same company that manufactures my preferred gummies has created orange-colored thirium for Halloween. The additive that allows for it to stay orange and not turn brown thickens it, making it more viscous than its original state. It has the same consistency as a milkshake."

"How intriguing," he muttered as he looked at it then sipped it. Louder he said, "Thank you."

"Of course. I was saving it for you, Eights." His nickname was spoken much softer than the rest of what Nines said, and it made something in the advanced systems and biocomponents in Connor's chest skip. That, and the thought of Nines holding on to one drink for him the entire time he was waiting for Connor made a string of warm code flutter through his systems.

(He would not mind hearing his name come from Nines's lips like that again.)

Reed, who was dressed as a werewolf, face paint accentuating the hair on his face and deepening the shadows in the appropriate spots, clicked his tongue as he leveled him an unamused look. "Connor, for the love of fuck, just call me Gavin. You literally got shot in the head last month. I think formality's kinda taken a backseat at this point." The slight slur caused by the plastic fangs attached to his canines, nigh unnoticeable to a human but quite present to an android's sensors, permeated his speech.

It made him sound a note silly, although in Connor's honest opinion, Reed—_Gavin_—did not need help sounding foolish.

He did that enough on his own.

Officer Chen winced at the mention of Connor's injury and flicked Re—_Gavin_ on the arm before turning her attention back to Connor. "As usual, this idiot has no tact whatsoever," she ignored the tongue that was stuck out at her in order to retaliate and flick the fake dog ears sitting on Gavin's head, "but what he meant to say was that you don't have to be so uptight around us! Just call me Tina."

"Of course, Officer—excuse me, _Tina_," he corrected. Formality was deeply ingrained his code to the point of being a comfort, but perhaps making an effort to become more causal would benefit his relationships with his coworkers.

[New Mission Objective: _Become more causal with coworkers and friends._]

[Mission Objective List—updated]

"Glad to see you could make it!" She beamed at him. She hip-checked Nines, gently as if he did not have a sturdy plastimetal frame, to make room for Connor at the table. Being the tall, built RK900 that he was, Nines more than likely moved of his own accord rather than Tina's jostle, but was more than likely just appeasing her. "I'm pretty surprised that you didn't dress up or anything for this, though. I thought you would've wanted, you know, the full experience and everything for your first Halloween."

In his burnt-orange cardigan, speckled light gray button-up, and black jeans and shoes, he replied, "I had difficulties choosing which costume I would have wanted to wear the most." At least he was dressed in Halloween-themed colors.

Gavin squinted at him. "So you _didn't_ have, like, a million dog-related costumes you were going to pick from?"

He felt heat in his cheeks. He was positive they were flushed blue. "For your information, there were only thirty-seven dog costumes I was stuck between." He paused, only to add sheepishly, "I ended up taxing my processors as I weighed the pros and cons between each individually."

"Why didn't you just have Hank pick one for you? He would have just picked the first one he'd seen just to get it over with."

"Hank said that if I had not picked one within the time limit, I would not come with a costume."

Tina asked, "Time limit? Did it take you the whole month to figure out all you costume choices? And you still couldn't figure out one?"

"…I had until five o'clock today."

Although the laughter fizzed around the table, Connor did not feel laughed at as the butt of a joke. Rather, he felt even more comfortable, a little looser. In his short time as a living being, he was continuously surprised by the fact that he had people around him that wanted him to be in their company. He was not complaining about it, but could not help but notice it, nonetheless.

They continued to make casual conversation, flitting between topics such as favorite Halloween traditions and the general air of the holiday. Gavin recounted that his favorite part of the holiday would always be dressing up. The unexpected remainder of that statement was that he liked to do so in order to entertain children. "Kids _love_ that shit, you know?" was his explanation. "Seeing them all excited and wound-up just 'cause I decided to wear something for Halloween is pretty cool. Especially the little kids that just crack up giggling, it's so fucking adorable."

Connor simply blinked.

[File: Detective Gavin Reed—opened]

[Edit File: _Reed has a soft spot for children and enjoys making them happy._]

[File: Detective Gavin Reed—updated]

"Oh, my sweet Jesus, Gavin, you're a _sap_."

"Shut up, Tina."

Tina then regaled them about all the various wonders of the massive amounts of sweets that were permissible in October. Chocolate and hard fruit candies were a requirement, it seemed. To be more specific, Hershey's and Jolly Ranchers. "I'm not going to lie to you guys—I have a _massive_ sweet tooth. My roommate, bless her with all the graces, is such a sweetie because she knows of my sweet tooth and goes out and buys a ten-pound bag of candy bright and early on October 1st. If I'm lucky and, you know, actually pace myself, I can make it last maaaybe through half the month." Grinning, she poked Nines's shoulder. "I bet you can relate to that, huh, Nines? Don't think I didn't hear about that incident with the thirium cookies and the fridge and the tater tots."

Nines's eyes slid to examine the contents of his cup. "I am afraid I have no idea to what you are referring."

"I think the hospital fee we were charged would say otherwise," Gavin snarked.

Connor hid his amused smile behind his hand as Nines sent Gavin a rather baleful look. It was either the human's willpower (unlikely) or sheer magnitude of assholery (highly probable) that kept him from disintegrating under that look.

"Ignore them, Connor. Gavin was dropped on his head as a baby, which has given him Chronic Dumbass Disease. Since they're living together, I'm sad to say that he's probably gone and infected our favorite Terminator over here by mere proximity," Tina leaned in and faked a stage whisper, making Connor giggle.

It was more a cross between a servo clicking and a huffy of breath, but could be classified as a giggle by human standards.

Eventually the conversation moved from candy and treats to movies.

"I do believe that Nines has watched a few too many Halloween and slasher movies with Hank and I," Connor supplied with a smile, taking a sip of his dyed thirium. "He has taken a particular interest in criticizing the monsters that often appear in such media."

Nines defended himself as he took another sip of his thirium, "I find them fascinating, both the movies themselves and the monsters. It is interesting to see all the kinds of creations and creatures that humans have come up with, only with more creative ones emerging every year." His sneer at Gavin was more of amusement than ridicule. "I suppose that is why I allowed Gavin to leave the apartment in his current state. A werewolf is fascinating, even if one looks like a trash mongoose."

"Trash mongoose?!" Gavin spluttered with indignation as Tina laughed and Connor let loose a snicker of his own. The trash man in question narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at his roommate, who was polishing off his drink like a satisfied feline. "First off, rude. Second off, I'll have you know I put _effort_ into this costume."

"Five minutes does not an effort make."

Before an argument could start between the two, the advanced model android took it upon himself to remove himself from the situation. If he stayed, he was not sure he could prevent himself from taking a side, no matter how…ergonomic Gavin's costume was. He tapped Tina lightly on the elbow, gesturing his head to their bickering friends. "Would you make sure they do not end up killing one another? If you will excuse me, I think I should check on Hank."

Tina shooed him off. "No worries, go to that grump. If these two haven't killed each other living in the same place, I'm sure Gavin's shoddy costume won't be the cause of a murder."

With permission granted—though as a free deviant, he did not need one's permission to act—he made his way towards Hank's desk. Just before he arrived, he watched as Fowler made a beeline towards the precinct entrance, looking like he had his own mission objective in mind. A thread of concern code shot through his systems. His optics shot to see if Hank shared any of that concern, but from the almost amused look on his face, Connor came to the conclusion that the Captain's departure was nothing to worry. If anything, it only made him more curious.

The sound of a child laughing just by the entrance only confirmed his conclusion. A moment later and the Captain returned, holding Officer Miller's son, Damian, in his arms. The toddler was happily clutching at Fowler's tie, dressed as a bright orange pumpkin complete with a fabric little pumpkin top as a hat. (Connor captured a photo for two reasons: 1) Damian Miller was a delightfully adorable child, and 2) he could send the photo to Officer Miller later as he loved having pictures of his son.) Behind the Captain trailed in Officer Miller—an equally bright pumpkin pin on his uniform shirt—making silly faces at Damien who was giggling at him.

It was nice to know that his strict Captain had a soft spot for children and that Damian Miller was growing to be a happy child.

[File: Captain Jeffrey Fowler—opened]

[Edit File: _Fowler enjoys being around children and is endeared to Officer Miller's son in particular._]

[File: Captain Jeffrey Fowler—updated]

Connor perched himself, neat and prim, on Hank's desk, plucking an errant piece of candy from the cracked cup of wrapped treats. Beginning to roll it between his fingers, he smiled at the (semi) annoyed look that Hank shot at him.

"I think you're getting a bit _too_ comfortable using my desk as a seat, Con," Hank said in way of greeting."

"We both know you do not care, Hank."

His friend sighed as leaned back on his chair, peering around Connor to look at the table of three occupants he had just abandoned. He pointed his cup of spiked punch to the them. "Did you get bored of listening to Reed complain about no one appreciating him, or did you come to have me break it up? Wait," he peered more closely, frown starting to appear, "is Reed heckling Nines again? Do I have to go rescue that idiot from being killed by him?"

Connor hoped he projected reassurance with his smile. "No, I do not believe so. To be fair, I think they both enjoy annoying the other from my observations." He followed Hank's gaze in order to watch Nines and Reed.

To an outsider, the smirk on Nines' face would be read as condescending. To Connor, who knew him much better than that, it was of (thinly) veiled mirth. His predecessor looked delighted at Gavin's suffering as he told him what he was researching about werewolves in real time. Connor was glad he had tuned in at just the right moment for his audio processors to pick up Nines telling Gavin about the internet's apparent fascination with werewolf phalluses and knots. (Connor put the research topic of werewolf knots—whatever those were—on his subroutine list.) Nines's processors were much faster than his own. As Connor watched him supply detail after detail with confidence to a quickly reddening Gavin, the urge to preconstruct what Nines's mouth would look like parted instead of that smirk was becoming increasingly more tempting.

Hank tapped his cup of punch on his desk, prompting Connor to snap his attention back to him. Hank did not comment on his staring, thank rA9. "He seems pretty into werewolves."

"I assumed that was quite apparent."

"You know, your sarcasm module could use with some back burner time_. Anyway_, like I was saying, you think maybe he likes them so much because his, uh, Other traits are kind of like that?"

Connor looked at the Lieutenant for a moment, the question not being one that he was expecting. "Could you be more specific, Hank?" Surprise colored his question.

The older man snorted. "Don't sound so shocked, Con. My brain hasn't given up on me yet. What I mean is that you and Nines got that whole Otherworldly thing going on. You're like an octopus," he ignored that displeased face Connor made, "and Nines is like a hound. Ask Gavin—he'll tell you the same."

Well, he supposed that was a fair point.

Hank continued, "Maybe he took an interest in werewolves because he can relate to them or something? That dog thing with his shadows seems to be close to being werewolf-like. Plus, he growls something that's not quite like a person—you can't tell me you haven't noticed that."

Connor had noticed that.

It often made his audio processors, to use a human description, tingle.

"Statistically, it is safe to say that Halloween might be his favorite holiday so—"

A choked, high-pitch scream broke the calm atmosphere of the party, causing Connor to whip his attention to the source, systems thrown into alertness. What he saw, however, was not what he expected and will be forever burned into his memory banks. Gavin, the source of the piercing scream, was leaning back away from Nines, one hand clenching the table he had been leaning on and the other gripping on the fabric over his heart. Tina seemed to be enthralled and entertained as she was fixed on Nines with a look that was both disbelieving yet overjoyed. This was not what was causing Connor to go into a minor system failure, no.

All the fault settled on Nines.

His predecessor had his lips pulled back in a demonstrative snarl, teeth pointed like a shark and lower jaw unhinged, lined with equally sharp teeth—fangs, more accurately. His optics had shifted from his cool ice blues to something much more unnatural, the irises blazing a Copper (I) Chloride fire-cyan as they were surrounded by the ink-black pools of his sclera. (1) The image of Nines leaning over the table, modded to allow his features to look something less human and more monstrous, was something the poor RK800 had no words for, even with his advanced systems and connection to magnitudes of databases.

Seeing Nines in that deadly display of his caused a distinctly nonhuman—Otherworldly—and powerful feeling of _want_ to course through him. It almost caused his knees to give out under him.

That display—that burning power behind those black-blue optics and the promise of injury lining those fangs—caused Connor to drop the piece of candy that he had been rolling over his fingers. He swallowed deeply. There were at least five notifications on his HUD of his rising temperature, the slight increase of his thirium flow, and the gathering of sterilization fluid (his synthetic saliva) in his mouth. He was aware, from the increased heat radiating from the synthskin of his cheeks, that there was a high probability that they were flushed a dark blue. He swallowed once more. That intense _want_ swelled in him again, and he had to restrain his shadows from reaching out.

All he could think was, _Oh, rA9, please help me_.

His plea was not answered, no. In fact, it was veritably ignored and thrown in his face because the situation became _so much worse_.

The reaction from Gavin apparently pleased Nines to the utmost because now he was _laughing_. It was not his usual huff of air or quiet chuckle. It was a full, loud laugh, one that he had to hide behind his hand and that colored his cheeks a beautifully pale blue. His shoulders were shaking because of how much he was laughing. His optic mods must not have transitioned away fully, because the irises of them were positively glittering with that strong cyan, like light bouncing and diffracting through and off of ice sheets. The skin around was his optics were crinkled with mirth. All of this shattered the picture of a terrifying and intimidating person that Nines liked to create for himself, and all that was left (for Connor) was this freer, softer form of an RK that was becoming more endearing by orders of magnitudes.

(He would do anything to see Nines like this every day for the rest of his given life.)

The laughter began to subside only to be ramped back up when Nines accidently snorted.

Connor felt something sparking in his chest—electric and strong—as he heard a long keening sound coming from somewhere.

Oh, that was himself.

_So this is what a regulator-attack feels like_.

* * *

As he watched the absolute circus that this party was turning into, Hank felt like he should get a promotion in the very least. _I swear to God_, he thought as he took a very long and measured sip of his punch, quite possibly the only thing keeping him grounded, _this was not what I was expecting when I got up this morning_. It was like being surrounded by children—which, in all fairness, a lot of the people he worked with were younger than him (sans Jeff).

He took one look at Connor, who was still staring at Nines like some love-struck gal from the classic movies, and just shook his head. Oh, the poor guy had it _bad_. It was rare to see Connor so stricken and still, but the whole blueberry-impersonation his face was doing reassured Hank that he wasn't malfunctioning—or maybe he was with that broken keening noise—and just, you know, pining.

Around him, the other members of the precinct were in states of both amusement (Tina and Chris) and terror (about ten others). A blonde-haired office that he was not familiar with was staring at the two RKs with something akin to wide-eyed bewilderment and a smidge of fear. "_These_ are the guys that were hired to work here since last year? Oh God, what have we done?"

Ben slotted himself closer to the officer as he gave them a hearty pat on the back. "Eh, just look at it this way. Our approval rates have gone up since Connor and Nines have started working here and the cases solved have gone up, too." He laughed, "We don't really got a choice but to keep 'em!"

Hank took another look at Connor then yet another one at Nines.

He sighed and looked up to the ceiling.

"How is this my life now?"

* * *

Published: 5/28/19

(1) Copper (I) Chloride (copper-one chloride) produces a blue fire when burned.

A/N: Thank you all for being patient with me as I wrote this! I know this chapter is two weeks late, so I tried making it a bit longer to compensate. My May-semester class ate up so much of my time because it was accelerated, so I didn't get a chance to finish this up until now.


	2. Nines Learns About His Type the Hard Way

Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human

Rating: M (higher rater for this chapter due to content)

Words: 9400

Warnings: violence, kidnapping, language, android slurs

I'm going to be very honest with all of you: this chapter _did not_ want to be written. It was an incredibly difficult chapter for me to write, and it fought me the entire time. That coupled with trying to get paperwork done for some _very_ important stuff and also client commissions, that also delayed this chapter, but thank you all for your patience!

Note: I listened to the D:BH soundtrack while writing this and it really helped. For Connor's later parts, I highly recommend listening to his songs from the soundtrack (particularly _Hostage_, _Analyszing_, or _As I See Them_) as you read this. For Nines's part towards the end, I actually highly recommend listening to Kara's soundtrack (particularly _Not Just a Machine_, _Kara (Main Theme),_ and _Carousel_).

* * *

Chapter: 2) Nines Learns About His Type the Hard Way

_I am an advanced military-grade android meant to be able to handle anything that steps in my path,_ Nines thought, chiding himself even in his weak state._ This should __**not**__ have happened…_

Low thirium levels were making him sluggish and weak, weighing down his body into a very human slump. His optics were closed to conserve what little energy he had. Before deviancy, he had thought that tiredness was a specifically human experience as androids were perfect and possessed superior bodies. After deviancy, however, even more so now, he understood with an uncomfortable intimacy that exhaustion bit its teeth into every being, even someone made of plastimetal and code like him.

He struggled to draw forth his shadows, but a mere facsimile of their usual size rose by his feet. They shuddered when he did, shivering in a weak attempt to manifest. With the little concentration he had to spare, he focused on creating at least one shadow arm. It looked wrong. Without much power behind it, it wisped and frayed, tongues of darkness evaporating off it into nothingness.

The ring of pure salt around him was negating his shadows from progressing further than a foot or so away from his person.

Even with only one of his audio processors functioning at 65% capacity—the other had been completely blown out from a hit to his cranium—he could hear the steady drone of the rain beating against the roof and windows of the building. He attempted to focus on that pattering, the constant pour of the rain, instead of all the damage his body had collected. His concentration was broken, however, when a strong gust of wind blasted through the cracks of the windows he knew were damaged into the derelict building. The cold had teeth as strong as exhaustion did, perhaps akin to the strength of his own fangs, and he shivered as it bit into his synthskin. The dampness in the air coupled with the wetness of his own thirium on his synthskin made for a rather uncomfortable combination. (1)

Nines was incredibly disappointed at the loss of his favorite overcoat. (2) It had been the first thing to get ruined when they took him. Pity.

Another gust licked at the thirium dribbling from his arm ports and further wetting the surrounding areas of his currently torn and sleeveless black turtleneck. Some of his thirium lines had been damaged in such excess that even stopping the flow to his arm ports did not cease the leaking thirium. He shivered again, not all from the temperature. He wanted his coat.

[Warning: Thirium Levels—63%]

[System Alert: Replenish thirium levels soon]

"Well, would you lookie here," a masculine voice chuckled into the damp, cold air, "our favorite little toy soldier here finally woke up."

Despite the painful shocks it caused to move, through the hair hanging in his face, Nines slowly raised his head in order to glare at the man who appeared in front of him. He used his best intimidation glare—Intimidation Eyes Protocol #12, to be exact—but he knew it was not as effective being shot through the mess of dark hair hanging in his face and coupled with his weakened state. Even with his modded optics, it was difficult to look threatening when beaten, had blood continuously dripping from multiple places, and shaking from both blood-loss and pain. (3)

Being bereft of both arms also subtracted from the intimidating image as well.

The man in front of him was the picture of what Hank would call 'a high school jock with a power-high and a gun.' The Caucasian man, perhaps ten years younger than Hank, had close-cropped blonde hair that matched the patchy blonde beard that would not grow in proper on his face. His arms, crossed over the old tactical vest on his chest, were clad in the same deep black material as his pants. The posture and the boots—and those were some nice boots; Nines thought perhaps he should acquire a pair—all screamed military.

Or an 'absolute jack-off', if he were to quote Gavin. (Gavin would be right in this case.)

_RA9, I hope that Gavin is alright_.

The man grinned as he twirled the long metal wand in his hands. Under closer inspection, Nines knew it was a high-voltage electric shock wand, black market quality. Specifically made to harm androids. It was the same kind that had gotten him captured hours ago—a check to his internal chronometer specified that he had lost six hours, if he were to be specific. "And here we thought that we accidently destroyed you with all the electricity and that nifty chip. Our client would be _pretty_ upset with us if we delivered the product nonfunctioning and whatnot. But," he gestured the shock wand to either side of Nines's torso, "they never said nothing about being a bit busted up. How's that treating you anyway?"

Quite poorly, if he were to be honest, but he would never give these garbage stains the satisfaction of a verbal answer. His self-healing had closed most of his damaged thirium lines that led to his arms, but the larger, excessively damaged ones stubbornly kept at a lazy dribble. He was acutely aware of the chip that had been shoved into his neck port. It was foreign and uncomfortable, edging towards the point of being painful as it hacked into his mainframe and overwrote some of his functions. There was no human equivalent to the feeling of his own codes being tapped into, but the sooner the small, though wretched, piece of hardware was out of him, the better he would feel. His optics flicked from each of the three people in front of him. As much as he would have enjoyed being able to access information about the people who captured him, at the very least, the chip prevented many of his functions from working. He was shut out from network access. Sending a call, or a signal, or a ping for some sort for aid was out of the question with his communications systems knocked offline as well.

To the question he was asked, Nines gave him one of his best snarls.

It was quite good, if the man's grimace was anything to go by.

"What a mean-looking freak," the man muttered. Louder, he said, "Not a nice way to answer the people that are holding back from scrapping you, you know!"

Nines did not lessen his glare. "If you wished to dispose of me, you have done so already. Therefore, you must be keeping me here for a reason. What do you want?"

"Other than the beautiful satisfaction of bustin' up another plastic," the man twirled the shock wand as he smirked, "just a job, plain and simple. Not that it's gonna matter to you after it's all done—you and that duplicate of yours are probably going to end up scrapped for black market parts or some shit, I dunno. We didn't get the juicy specifics. You were just the extra, after all."

Wait.

He sucked in a sharp breath. Duplicate? _Did he mean—?_

"Boss, should we really be talking so much to this thing?" The woman with the dyed green hair eyed Nines. Like her aforementioned leader, she had her arms crossed over an older generation tactical vest which was strapped over simple black clothing. "What if it, I don't know, figures out something it shouldn't?"

Before the man, which would be known as 'Boss' for now, could answer, Nines hissed, "To which _duplicate_ are you referring?"

Boss and the women blinked at his tone, but their surprise quickly bled into amusement. The women started snickering as Boss turned to her. "Get a load of this thing, Leaf." Nines wanted to claw that look right off his face, or rather, claw off his whole face. "It's _concerned_ over its little clone."

Leaf snorted, then addressed Nines. "The skinnier version of you. The negotiator-detective of your precinct, plastic. Thought that would be pretty obvious."

"You will not _touch_ him." Nines jerked against his restraints as best he could, with what strength he had left. Whatever pole he was tied to groaned loudly in protest to his movement, and he froze.

Boss gestured to the pole. "Now, I wouldn't do that if I were you. That support beam is one of the main things holding up this old dump. Even as you are now, we were informed about the strength output of an RK900, so we what you could do. But," the amusement was clear on his face, "we know you won't. Although your model is pretty tough, I doubt that even a RK900 can stay intact after a whole building falling on top of it."

Leaf added as she pointed to the ring around Nines's feet, "Plus, we know how freaky you and that other RK are. Rumor mill and all that, so we had to take precautions. You're not going to be doing much of anything."

A much larger, and frankly dumber-looking, brute waltzed over to squat in front of Nines, grinning at the state that he was in. "Well ye ain't so tough then, now are ye, huh?" The ruddy-faced Irishman goaded, as if he were looking at a kill he could boast about. Nines wanted to lean away from the foul tobacco-laced breath that was being breathed directly into his face, but that would only serve to appear intimidated. He could not have that. "One lil chip on yer neck, and ye went down harder than a drunk af'er his last drink o' the night. Bet ye can't do anythin' about it, neither." He reached out a stubby finger to poke at Nines's cheek, and the pure _indignation_ that welled inside of the RK900 caused him to abandon any niceties he had learned through Connor and his own deviancy. Connor would forgive him for what he was about to do.

"Ah, Truck," Leaf warned, "you should probably get your hand away from it, man. I heard this thing is pretty dangerous, even all banged up like that."

The man now known as Truck—the nickname was apt as he was built like one—snorted before going back to poke Nines for a second time. "Don' worry yer wee head. This right here ain't gonna do—"

Nines surged forward as far as the chains would allow him in order to snap at the offending extremity. His modded teeth and jaw shifted mid-lunge and the fangs made viciously quick work of separating the man's hand from the rest of his arm.

_Crunch. _The loud, wet snap of his teeth was drowned out by Truck's wailing cry.

Nines grinned wide, fangs glinting dangerously as they were stained a dripping red. He made sure to secure eye contact with all of them as he snarled in his grin and spat out the hand he had torn clean off Truck's arm. If his network connections had been functioning, he would have been able to identify the actual identity of Truck from the blood. The RK900 made sure that he bared his teeth as he smiled, showing off the blood shining against his fangs. _I am not the android you ought to be ridiculing. Attempt that again and I might tear off something more important._

"Oh, you sick fucker!" The woman whirled to Truck's side in order to press the scarf that had been around her neck to the man's wound. He was making so much noise, and it was getting to be annoying.

"_Damn beast! Me hand, me hand!"_

Equally angry as his crew, Boss let go of whatever little self-control he had been harboring. "I fucking had it with you, plastic," he clomped his way over into Nines's space. Before a protest could be uttered, he jammed the now crackling electric shock wand into the android's side with an unhealthy fervor. "Go the fuck back to sleep!"

An inhuman noise screeched from Nine's voicebox.

He may have screamed; he may not have. He was not positive.

[System Al3rt]

[_Sy5t3m AL3rT: _W rN1nG_]

[_WArN1—_]

Everything went black and silent.

.

.

.

.

(His last thoughts had been on Gavin and Connor)

.

.

.

.

* * *

Connor was not having a good day.

In fact, it would be a gross understatement to even describe it as awful.

It had been late Tuesday night when he had gotten the call from Hank. Thanksgiving was that Thursday, and this would be the first year that Connor and Nines would be able to celebrate it. Tuesday was Connor's day off, so he had decided to spend it getting ready for the holiday while Hank was at the precinct. With plenty of online research, he had discovered the appropriate decoration for the holiday and thus made it his mission to decorate the house. Although it had been a bit of an endeavor to keep Sumo from eating many of the decorations, it had been done: orange paper leaves decorating the walls here and there, leftover plastic pumpkins that had been used on Halloween now dotting the coffee table and the kitchen table, a cornucopia and other gourds and squashes peppering the dining room table, and one rather cute plush turkey sitting one the bookshelf. It even had a little black pilgrim's hat, which Connor had thought was charming.

(Although the origins and history of the holiday had been distressing to find out, the themes of thankfulness and family were ones on which he wanted to focus.)

It had been nine o'clock in the evening, about an hour past the time Hank should have been home. Connor had assumed Hank had stopped on the way home to pick up something from the store—they _had_ been low on coffee and thirium.

[Incoming Call: _Hank Anderson_]

[Accept | Deny]

[**Accept** | Deny]

"Hello, Hank," he had said aloud, smiling even though the man could not hear him—a human trait he had picked up in time during his deviancy. "I was just thinking about you. Is everything—"

_[Connor, oh thank fuck, listen to me carefully,]_ Hank's tone and interruption had made Connor pause from refilling Sumo's water bowl. _[Chris and Ben found Reed unconscious with Nines nowhere to be found. I'm on my way to come get you.]_

And that had been how Connor's terrible day (and night) had started.

Once Hank had pulled up to the house, at a speed that was certainly not suitable for a residential area especially in the downpour that was happening, he had begun to inform Connor of the situation. Gavin and Nines had been investigating a lead about the android crucifixion murders when they had gone off the grid. They had been expected for a check-in several hours ago, but when they had failed to turn back into the precinct, a notification had been sent out to any officers on patrol. Officer Miller and Detective Collins had come across their empty squad car with Gavin unconscious in the dirt not too far from it. That had bene all Hank knew of the situation as he had promptly sped home to get Connor once he had been informed.

Nines had been missing.

Gavin had been hurt.

Nines would not have just _left_ his partner in the dirt.

Gavin would not have just plopped down and take his injuries without calling for assistance.

The ride to the precinct had seemed like one of the longest car rides Connor had ever taken in his relatively short existence. He had done his best to keep himself calm. It had not been known for certain what had happened, and it would not have boded well to jump to conclusions.

He had paid little attention to the rain wetting his clothes when he power-walked—sped, rather—into the DPD. The floor had been slick. He had almost slipped with the speed he had been going. He had made a reminder to himself to apologize for upsetting the receptionists in tracking mud and water into the receiving area.

Fortunately, when they had arrived at the precinct, Gavin had been on his feet, albeit angry and holding an icepack to the swollen knot on the back of his head. Officer Miller and Detective Collins had been flanking him on either side. Connor had been worried that the man had sustained underlying injuries, but Gavin had protested any suggestions about going to the hospital. As much as Gavin had always protested being scanned without permission, Connor had to admit that he had done so anyway. He had been justifiably worried, in his opinion. Nevertheless, the way Gavin had been carrying himself, fuming and irritated, had let Connor know that the human was not concussed or worse.

Hopefully.

[Stress Level: 55% ^^]

"Reed, what the fuck happened?" Fowler had scowled, more concerned than angry.

Gavin had batted at all the people that had been crowding at his desk while Tina had batted his hand back. "We got jumped, that's what the fuck happened." He had clenched his hand around the icepack he was holding. "We were working that ongoing crucifixion case, following a lead that tipped us off to the old warehouses—you know, those ancient ones that've been condemned for decades. Turns out," here he had snorted, and his tone had turned nasty with self-deprecation, "the lead was a false one. My fault that things turned shitty."

A sinking feeling had begun to creep on Connor. "…Gavin?" He had swallowed to rid of the sudden lump—it _had_ to have been excess sterilization fluid, that had been it—in his throat. "Gavin, what happened to Nines?"

Gavin had just grit hit teeth as he looked down at his lap, not answering.

A black, shivering feeling of impending dread had felt slick as it wormed through his codes. The ink pool of shadows at his feet had matched it, bubbling with the sick anticipation. "_Gavin_, please."

[Stress Level: 69% ^^]

"He—"

"Sir!" all heads had turned the high-pitched voice that was coming from the entryway to the bullpen. One of the receptionists, the female-identifying PM700 known as Pamela, came rushing in, her heels clacking with every step. She made her way towards Fowler. Her LED was spinning yellow at her temple quite noticeably and her brown optics were wide with worry. "Captain Fowler, sir! I received an email on one of the tablets we use at the front desk, that, well," she had changed her gaze to Gavin who raised an eyebrow at the attention, "it mentioned Detective Reed and Detective Nines. It has instructions that require the attached video to be played. We," her optics had slid from each of the tense people in the bullpen, "we don't get things like this at the front desk, so I thought it best for you to see it. It doesn't seem like any good."

The dread he had been feeling had risen in him further.

If he had been human, he would have felt ill.

But using the phrase had felt apt in this situation, so—_he had felt ill_.

Fowler had taken the tablet she then had offered to him. "Thank you, Pamela. You can go back to the desk." He had paused as he took in her expression, "I'll let you know what happens. Don't worry."

Reluctantly, she had nodded, turning on her heel to go back to the front desk. Before leaving, however, she had shot a look over her shoulder to Connor. He had received a ping from her with the attached feelings of _concern-worry-anxiousness-sympathy_ in the millisecond it had taken for her to make optic-contact with him. Nines had always been kind to her, so Connor had understood why she was so concerned over the email. Although his own anxieties had been on the rise since he had stepped into the precinct, he had sent her a ping of his own, one that tried to convey _reassurance-kindness-sympathy_ as best he could. (4)

Two seconds into her way out, she had given him the slightest of nods before breaking optic-contact.

"Alright," Fowler had said, "I have no doubt this isn't any good, so let's get this over with. I don't like this, but any information about Nines is better than nothing." With that, he had tapped on the tablet to transfer the video to one of the viewing screens in the bullpen. It had been black at first before shifting into static and then subsequent visuals.

What had played next would be something Connor would never forget.

The video had cut to the innards of a dingy-looking warehouse. There in the middle, tied to a large support beam with chains, had been Nines, slumping, bleeding, and—_oh rA9, what had they done to his __**arms**__?_ The camera had seemed to be situated off to the side, hiding from view from Nines but giving them a clear view of him. His LED had been a bright red beacon in the mixed lighting of the building. Before he had could have stopped himself, Connor had shouted. "Nines!"

"Oh, fuckin' A," Hank had sucked in a breath at Nines's appearance, while Gavin and Fowler had sworn colorfully. Officer Miller had grimaced and hid his mouth behind his face as Detective Collins had paled several shades.

They had watched and listened, helpless, as Nines regained consciousness and three people had descended upon him. As soon as the two men and the woman had appeared, Connor had trained his optics on them with an almost mad fervor. Scouring the multiple databases which he was connected in seconds, he had identified the people. "Captain," he had grabbed Fowler's attention, "the first man—the blonde one—is Kyle Kincaid, ex-military and dishonorably discharged. Known alias of 'Boss'. He has been arrested before for black market dealings and assault." When the green-haired woman came into focus, he had listed, "The woman is Imaurie Carpenter, also ex-military, known alias of 'Leaf'. She has been arrested for multiple counts of theft. The other man—the larger one—is James O'Sullivan, known alias of 'Tank'. He has been arrested on one count of murder and several charges of battery."

"And now they have _so_ many more charges that are racking up against them with this," Gavin had sneered at the video. "Assaulting me, kidnapping Nines, assaulting _and_," he had grimaced on the next word, "torturing him from the looks of it. God, it's my damn fault this happened. They used me to get to him."

Officer Collins cut it, "Reed, that's not your fault. You can't blame yourself for all this."

Before Gavin could argue, they had heard Boss through the video say, "_Not that it's gonna matter to you after it's all done—you and that duplicate of yours are probably going to end up scrapped for black market parts or some shit, I dunno. We didn't get the juicy specifics. You were just the extra, after all."_

Duplicate.

"Wait, does he mean…?" Officer Miller had turned to look at Connor, but it was what had been said next that confirmed Connor's suspicions.

"_The skinnier version of you,"_ Leaf had said. _"The negotiator-detective of your precinct, plastic. Thought that would be pretty obvious."_

Connor's optics had gone wide and something had jerked in his chassis. Everyone had suddenly had eyes on him. _They took him to get to __**me**__. Oh rA9._ He ignored everyone's staring, hoping that they would all just hurry and look away. _We need to worry about Nines, not me._

He had clenched his jaw as he continued watching the video, both in anxious anticipation and a blooming feeling of anger. The others had switched their attention back to it in turn. Those criminals had _hurt_ Nines, injured him, and rendered him unable to move. He had never seen Nines in such a state before—he had wanted to take Nines out of there, get him to safety.

[Stress Level: 74% ^^]

Fowler had barked out an order. "Is someone getting the location on this?!"

"Working on it, sir!"

Connor had heard the big man, Truck, mention a hacking chip. A shiver of disgust had reverberated through his chassis. A revolting image, to think about _that_ being inside Nines.

If he thought that had been bad, the following had been so much worse.

They all had watched as Truck squatted in front of Nines, getting close in his space. Despite the tense atmosphere, it had been like 'watching a train wreck' as the human saying went—knowing that one was about to watch a disaster yet not being able to do anything about it or look away. The thick, raised finger had been an instrument of impending doom—a dramatic word, but it had been quite apt for this situation—and watching it get closer to Nines's face was akin to watching a man sign his death certificate. Despite the tension charging the air, a thrill of anticipation had raced through Connor's code when he preconstructed what was about to happen to Truck. (Perhaps Connor had been spending a little _too_ much time around Nines, for his thoughts to be like that.)

"Oh no," Officer Mitchell Wilson, the man who he had saved during his first mission, had moaned, "he's not going to want to do that."

Officer Wilson had been quite correct.

The finger that had then been poking Nines's cheek sealed the burly man's fate. Connor had no sympathy.

A few of the weaker-stomached officers may have screamed when Nines had lunged forward and bit off Truck's finger. Gavin and Hank, in rare unison, had cried out a satisfied, "Ha!", and, while there had been a pleased feeling of seeing Nines getting some revenge over his predicament, three out of the four of Connor's preconstructions had led him to feelings of dread. What he had preconstructed after this event had not been anything in Nines's favor.

This time, he had hated being correct.

(He had also hated having perfect memory, at times like this.)

The retaliation that had been brought down upon Nines had not been worth the satisfaction. To his horror, Boss had angrily stomped forward and jabbed the shock wand he had been playing with right into Nines, and the electricity that crackled around him had lit up the screen. The screech that had ripped itself from Nines sounded utterly inhuman, breaking as it overloaded his voicebox. Connor had nearly yelled along with him, terrified for Nines, but had instead clapped a hand over his mouth.

[Stress Level: 81% ^^]

"Christ, Nines!"

"Oh my God," Tina had muttered behind him, her voice wobbling.

Once Boss and Leaf—Truck had been otherwise occupied with slowing the bleeding of his wrist—had seemingly been satisfied that Nines would no longer move, Boss swore and threw the shock wand somewhere out of the camera's range. _"Now,"_ he had let out a frustrated breath before turning to face the camera directly_, "now that I have your attention, on to more serious business. As me and my colleagues have been informed, your RK900 is pretty special to your precinct, along with the RK800 that we weren't able to snatch up. Because I know that you all wouldn't want to go without this freaky robot here,"_ he grinned as he pointed a thumb over his shoulder, specifically at Nines's slumped form, _"I know that you would go far to get it back. That being said, I'm going to tell you what I want you to do, should be simple._

_It's only one thing, really. As I'm sure you already know, we wanted to get the RK800, not the murder bot we got instead—even though, it would fetch nice parts and an equally splendid bonus, too. 'Cuz of that, you're gonna have to bring that RK800 to us if you wanna see murder bot here. Give us the Negotiator, and we might consider trading for the RK900."_ The grin on Boss's face turned malicious_, "Well, what might be left of him, anyway. Meet us at the abandoned docks by the harbor at 2 AM. We'll be waiting."_

Silence reigned in the bullpen after the video ended.

"…Connor."

He had felt cold.

"Connor," Hank had called out to him again. He had sounded distant. There had been a buzzing ringing in his head…or maybe that had been the people exploding into action around him. The buzzing had been growing louder. He had clenched his teeth once more.

Something had touched his shoulder and it had been only by the smallest fraction of awareness that Connor had not flipped whatever had touched him over his shoulder. A cancelation of his self-defense protocol and a blink later, Connor had registered the touch as Hank's hand on his shoulder. There was a pressure-pain in his jaw—the actuator for his jaw had locked again. He had wrenched his jaw open, ignoring the warnings in the corner of his HUD, moving it side to side. Another blink and he had mechanically removed his own hand from its previous position clamped over Hanks' finger by finger. He had muttered an apology.

It had sounded weak.

Hank had turned him around before withdrawing his hand. "Con, we're gonna get him back but," he had glanced away to look at Fowler before returning to Connor "I don't think you should go."

A beat. "My apologies, Hank, but I believe my audio processors must be malfunctioning. I thought you said that I should stay behind."

The older man had looked uncomfortable. "Uh, yeah, that's kinda exactly what I said."

"I am going—I must." Connor began to (speed) walk towards his Captain with Hank right behind him. He had possessed a clear mission objective in mind. "They stated they wanted the department negotiator, which is myself specifically. If I do not go, then there is no guarantee that Nines will be kept alive." _Did Hank not understand this?_ He had come to a stop in front of Fowler and began, "Captain—"

"No, Connor," Fowler had interrupted him as he held a hand up. "We can't have both you _and_ Nines snatched up by some wackjob group that wants you."

[Stress Level: 87% ^^]

"I can predict and preconstruct the best and most efficient ways to negotiate with this group," Connor had laid in the facts. Fowler had always been a logical man (most of the time) from Connor's experience, so the best dialogue option would be one based on reason and fact. "If I do not show up, we risk them," his voice had skipped over the next word, "_destroying_ Nines. My presence will assure Nines's safety as there is a 98% chance that they will not run the risk of ruining their bargaining chip. In addition, what was stated in the video suggests they are not working alone. If we bring them all in, there is a chance we can figure out for whom they are working."

"Fowler, you can't seriously think this is a good idea," Hank had crossed his arms.

"The most efficient choice is allowing me to do my job as this precinct's Negotiator and deescalating the situation." _Let me use the skills with which I was programmed. _

Fowler had stared at Connor, and to Connor, it had felt like he was a specimen under a microscope—the smallest of reactions being looked for. It had been a tense, long moment before Fowler finally relented. "Get your gear and get ready. If _anything_ goes south, we're pulling you."

A wave of relief crashed into Connor's programming.

[Stress Level: 80% v v]

"Of course, Captain. But," he had said pointedly, "I will make sure that does not have to happen."

In an under an hour, a team had been formed for the task of retrieving Nines and bringing in the assailants. Connor had been among them with Hank by his side.

Before, looking at Nines through the video in the DPD, he had felt cold. The oil slick of fear had drenched him, the thin sheen of it coating his coding, his servos, and his actuators.

Now, though…

The glacial fear had no longer weighed him down, but instead had changed. Walking out of the precinct with a purpose, shadows flooding the ground behind him like a buzzing ink spill, the cold had become something he could use. Something powerful, something all-encompassing.

Just under a year into deviancy, he was beginning to experience what one very particular, powerful emotion felt like:

Rage.

.

.

.

.

.

[Stress Level: 77% - -]

The frigid rain drenched him from head to toe.

Brown hair plastered against his forehead, Connor paid the weather no mind as he trained his optics on the warehouse just across the concrete lot. It was cold outside, yes, but what he felt could outmatch that ten-fold.

_[Remember Connor,]_ came Hank's voice over the com line as he walked closer to the building, slow and careful, _[if anything goes south, we're pulling you, negotiator or not.]_

With many officers surrounding the warehouse and Hank keeping position just outside, there was a high probability of all ends being covered. Face neutral and mouth set in a line, Connor answered through his internal channels rather than aloud like he had grown used to with his human companions, _[Understood. Entering the building now.]_

As Connor entered the building, he raised his voice in order to announce his arrival to the criminals. "You requested the negotiator of the DPD," he said as he looked around the warehouse, one side to another. Looking at its interior through a video was one thing, but feeling its decrepit state in person was another. Against his synthskin, he could feel the cold, damp draft sweeping through the cracked boards and broken windows and could practically touch the electric hum of the flickering lightbulbs above his head. He spoke again as he turned a corner around a tall stack of molded wooden boards, "You wanted me, so here I am."

_[Closing in the perimeter, three men neutralized so far,]_ an officer said through the com line.

Gavin's voice filtered through the line next. _[Anderson has entered the building, Connor. He's got your six covered.]_ There was a pause before he spoke again, however it was as if his voice was weighed down with the anvil of every possibility of something going wrong. _[Just…get him out of there—get both of you out of there…]_

_[Acknowledged, and I will.]_

Despite the veritable downpour that was happening outside, his audio processors could pick up his own footsteps against thrum. His thoughts went to Nines. With every step, he could imagine his successor being dragged against the filthy, wet ground—Connor force killed his own program when it threatened to boot up preconstructions.

"I'm so glad you decided to join us," the voice that belonged to Boss chimed through the warehouse. The fact that he sounded so cheerful grated against Connor's nerves.

"I am here just as you wanted," he raised his head to look at Boss who was on a metal catwalk towards the top area of the warehouse. "You have injured two officers of the law which will only add to your list of offenses. If you surrender yourself and your associates, it will be better for you."

Boss snorted, before bounding down the stairs with a fervor that made Connor on-edge, more so than he already was. "An officer of the law? Please, that murder bot is a freaky machine, no matter what the dumb law says. And I think you're getting the wrong idea here, _Negotiator_." He reached behind him to unhook the shockwand that was attached to his belt. As the man twirled the shockwand in his hand, Connor's optics followed its every move. "What we're _gonna_ do is do our job and take you in so we can get paid." He pointed the wand at Connor. "You feel me?"

Connor knew this was not a man that could be reasoned with. This situation was incredibly precarious. If he made the wrong move, it would cost both him and Nines their lives. If Boss became agitated or angered, he could have whatever lackeys he had left fire on him and any of the officers they encountered.

This would not be easy.

But, then again, he was made for difficult situations.

"I believe there is a way that all of us can walk out of here with the best outcomes in mind," he answered in order to buy time. With slow and measured steps, he walked closer to the man, further into the warehouse. Cybernetically, he connected to the com line between all the other officers. _[How many of the fugitives have been neutralized?]_

_[Almost all of them,]_ came Officer Miller's reply. _[Pretty sure there are less than four guys left.]_

Hank added, _[The big bastard Truck has been taken in, but that woman Leaf still ain't in the back of a squad car just yet.]_

_[Please hurry and neutralize the rest silently. If he hears anything, probability of this succeeding will drop sharply. I may not be able to detain him __**and**__ ensure Nines's safety if he reacts erratically in response.]_

_[Understood.]_

Boss tossed his head back and laughed with his free hand on his stomach, although whatever amused him was lost on Connor. "You know, I like you, Negotiator. For a bunch of plastic and wires, you're a pretty funny bot to talk to. Your lookalike was pretty quiet all the time and really snippy—and I mean that both figuratively and literally. The teeth on that one," he muttered, but then picked up louder, "But you! You're not like the other bots out there, and you seem like you can hold a conversation better than some of the ditzes I have for a crew. So, why don't we talk? Maybe you can entertain me."

[1: Keep Boss talking]

[2: Advance forward close enough to apprehend]

[3: Lay out consequences logically]

[4: Have officers clos—]

"Oh, and now that you've gotten close enough," Boss's voice broke through his mission choices, "I believe it's time you said hi to your lookalike." Connor felt something in his chassis lurch at the grin on the man's face, the cold feeling returning as he watched him point to Connor's left side to the support beam that held up the entire warehouse. "It's right over there if you turn a bit. You probably missed it on account of the angle and whatnot."

The slow, calmness of his movements, almost methodical in nature, as he neared where Boss pointed belied the almost painful and furious beating of his regulator. Connor quickly analyzed the support beam. It was as thick as two of him and was flaking with navy blue paint chips. Under it were two ratty plastic tarps, the blue one covering what he could guess to be boxes or crates, but the green one has something much lumpier underneath it. He glanced at Boss, who had not moved but gestured to the tarps with waning patience, in order to assure he would not be attacked (right now) before reaching out a hand to the green one. If he were human and not created to be such a highly-developed android, his hand would have been shaking. (But that was not to say that the wires in his arm were not malfunctioning by a margin of 1.44% due to his stress levels.)

He ripped the tarp away.

Connor stilled.

There was Nines, right in front of him, chained against the support beam and salt circle around him. There was Nines, skin so pale and translucent that Connor could see the white of his chassis and his buildlines right through. There was Nines, body held up by chains as he was too weak to hold himself upright, shaking from pain. There was Nines, dark hair out of its usual style, hanging damp against his dirtied forehead and face. There was Nines, smoke curling slowly from his neck as blue thirium dribbled out of his blackened, exposed neck port. Whatever chip that had been present was now gone. There was Nines, breath wheezing from every shallow breath as something clicked with each inhale and exhale. And there was Nines, arms ripped from his very person, fresh thirium still wetting his ruined clothes.

There was Nines, hurt right in front of him.

Something glitched inside him.

[Error]

[_Err0r]

[err0R_1: Ke3p B0ss—]

**[_1: Ke3p B0s5 TAlk1N6]**

* * *

Hank, from his position behind a large pile of abandoned barrels, could not only see the utter shitty state that Nines was in but was also witness to Connor stilling in the most unnatural way. With Reed in an open landing above him and Chris and Tina keeping cover on the other side, he knew that they saw it as well.

"Ah _shit_," he hissed under his breath, a sentiment that was echoed on the com line by the Reed, Chris, and Tina. This wasn't going to end well.

He spoke lowly into his com, as if his voice would break the fragility of the situation. "Everyone, stay alert. Whatever's next isn't going to be pretty."

* * *

[_/Op3r T1nG sYSt3M: b00t1nG uP…]

[_/Op3r T1nG sYSt3m: ON—]

[_/Op3rat1nG SYst3m: Onlin3…._Syst3m Functions: 39%_]

[…]

[….]

[…cal1braTIng…]

[_Sy5t3m AL3rT]

[_Sy5t3m AL3rT: _WArN1nG_]

[Sy5tem AlerT: Warn1ng]

[Warning: Thirium L3vels—54%]

[Sy5t3m Alert: RePlenish thir1uM levels soon]

**[Syst3m Alert: Tim3 Until Deactivation— -00:02:58:17]**

_00101110 00101110 00101110 01010111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00101110 00101110 00101110 00111111_ (5)

_01010111 00101101 01010111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00111111 00100000 01010111 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00101110 00101110 00101110 01110111 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01001001 00111111 _(6)

_01010111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101000 01100001—ppened?_ (7)

_What happened…?_

Nines's cranial processor felt scrambled and fragmented as he struggled through his reboot. There were multitudes of errors piled on top one each other on his HUD. Everything felt distant as if he were existing and living through a gray miasma that was choking him, muting him, smothering him. (Later, he would consider this to have been what a human being drunk and experiencing blood loss would feel like.) He coughed but winced when he felt something grind with the exhale and another wet thing splatter from between his teeth.

It felt warm against his lips.

He felt cold.

[Warning: Missing Biocomponent—_Biocomponent #9077a, left leg component_]

[System Alert: Replace _Biocomponent #9077a_]

[Warning: Missing Biocomponent—_Biocomponent #9573b, right leg component_]

[System Alert: _Replace Biocomponent #9573b_]

The static that had been roaring in his working audio processor eventually died down, letting other sounds slowly trickle in like drops of water through a cracked wall. He could make out something steady…the rain, the beat of heavy rain. The sounds of voices…Who was talking? He could not understand them…

He tried to move, tried to gain some semblance. Despite every movement sending shocks to the pain receptors in his cranial processor, he was able to take stock of his person: body bound against something, 0.78 second delay in though-to-action commands, and damage coming from biocomponent ports #9077a and #9573b. How could he have received such drastic damage? He was a military-grade model—he should not have been damaged like this so easily? So what could have…?

As if questioning the situation had unlocked the key to his memories, everything came flooding back to him with enough speed to disorient him. The tip to the case, the trip to the warehouses, the assailants assaulting Gavin in order to take him, being knocked unconscious by something, waking up to his kidnappers only to be knocked offline again—it all came back. As much as the cold dampness had been biting into him, an equally forcefully urgency sunk its teeth into him, ignoring his chassis to hit right into his internal systems; it made something in him shake. _Oh no, Gavin…RA9 please let him be okay._

His audio processor was still in the process of piecing together whatever was happening around him. Sounds became clearer and the voices became more recognizable. Even though he missed several parts of what was being said, he could hear the haughtiness of Boss who had done this to him. "Just wanna—not that it'll do—DPD better do it."

More sounds of the wind howling (and he could feel it on his synthskin and against his injuries).

Sounds of footsteps coming from his right, a familiar gait.

Slowly on the repair, his audio processors were able to pick up a male voice with a mild rasp with that spoke with a steady cadence. Articulate and concise, it was one that he was intimately familiar with, one that he knew dearly. The one he was modelled after. Connor was here.

Connor was _here_, oh no.

As soon as he registered that Connor was here in the warehouse, the information that his kidnappers had told him swelled to his mind's forefront. _No! If Connor is here, they are going to take him!_

Nines struggled against his bonds and his optics shot open. Things were hazy and fragmented, unclear until he blinked and recalibrated his optical units twice. In 8.3 seconds, he could see clearly although there was a stark lack of pigmentation around the edges of his vision. It was highly probably that error was caused by his low thirium levels, and by rA9, they were _low_. If they dipped below 45%, he would not be able to rouse himself from unconsciousness.

"Lookie there, the bot—raising itself—dead."

He felt dizzy and almost disconnected from his body.

The red timer in the corner of his HUD was an ominous weight he did not want.

**[System Alert: Time Until Deactivation— -00:02:50:06]**

[Warning: Thirium Levels—51%]

"_Nines_," Connor's voice drew him in, quiet and dark.

He did not realize how much of a struggle it was to lift his head and keep it steady, but Nines powered through that challenge in order to focus on Connor. Although he did not want his successor here as the threat loomed over the both of them, relief outweighed that concern in this moment. He could have embraced him if he had his arms and had the energy to do so. _Oh, thank rA9, I thought I would never see him again._ Through the hair hanging in his face, he looked at him. He was wet, he was wearing a bulletproof vest, he was tall, he had the darkness lurking in his doe-brown optics, he was here…

_(He was beautiful.)_

"Nines, you need to stay awake, stay online."

"Co…nnor," was all he could manage. His own voice was a croak, static shredding through it.

While he did not move from his spot, Connor's presence was almost right next to him. "Are you alright?"

Although the part in him that enjoyed being finnicky wanted to say, "Alright is quite relative, but my existence will not cease within the next ten minutes, if that brings you any comfort," all he had the energy to do instead was answer with a weak nod and a static-laden, "Currently."

Boss seemed to grow impatient with their exchange, rather childish, if Nines might have added. "If you two are done gossiping, I believe it's time I got what I want." He tapped length of the gun he had unholstered against his leg.

Connor's eyes rested on Nines for another second before snapping back to the criminal in front of them. Nines wanted those optics to come back and stay on him. "…Of course," Connor acquiesced after a careful pause. "But you must understand that, with all the crimes that you have committed, I cannot allow you to walk freely. Oh, and might I add," he continued, as if it were an afterthought, "what a list indeed. There are not many of those who go against the law whose actions grab my attention."

_Oh_, Nines realized, _so __**that's**__ what he's doing._

Boss blinked and stared, the answer taking him off guard. "What?"

"Oh yes," Connor kept going. Every word he said after was paired with a slow inching of ground, getting him closer to the criminal leader. "I have worked many cases since my activation and following deviancy, and when I happened upon yours tonight, I was actually pleased I was allowed to work this…exchange, shall we call it."

Even though he had gained consciousness, Nines's awareness of the situation around him had been steadily fading. One blink, and he had lost a few seconds. Another blink, and now his chronometer informed him he had lost two minutes. His one working audio processor was struggling to compensate against his damage, so voices were coming in and out again like an ocean wave, polluted and grease-heavy.

Connor kept talking, although the specific words escaped Nines. The longer he spoke, the closer Boss began to step, as if drawn in…a moth to a flame. (Nines could not blame him—he could listen to Connor's voice all day.) Thankfully, Nines was still able to process tone, and Connor's was losing whatever minute amount of harshness his held previously. Whatever he was saying, it was becoming a lower in volume…

A little softer…

A little more enticing…

Soon, Boss was a mere three feet in front of Connor.

Through the grayed corners of his vision, Nines—and whoever else would be in the building—took notice of the warehouse becoming darker, as if all the streetlights outside were slowly dying. Despite his injuries, he knew that the cold that was growing was not because of the bad weather outside. He shivered against it, because although it was one that he had felt before, it was tinged with a taint that made his own dark within him cloy. The best way he could have described it was like a dark, cold oil. A normal human may have attributed all this to the storm outside, but by the way the shadows were moving on their own, splitting and writhing like a living creature…Well, that was not the strictest definition of earthly, now was it?

His head nodded with the fatigue of blood loss, but he shook it, forcing himself back to whatever alertness his body could manage. From the areas in the warehouse he could see, near the walls and the ceiling, there were glowing orbs of red floating. He blinked heavily, but he knew those red orbs of light were not the backup lights.

Back up lights were not shaped like eyes.

**[System Alert: Time Until Deactivation— -00:02:37:46]**

[Warning: Thirium Levels—48%]

Boss was being drawn even closer to the Negotiator like an inching snail. He did not notice the shadows curling around his ankles before it was too late.

Connor, as always, was efficient and effective, and for that Nines was thankfully—he did not have much time left. The shadows tripped Boss, allowing Connor to lunge forward and take him down physically, cuff him, and read him his rights.

(Later, during Boss's interrogation and subsequent confession, the criminal would admit to his fascination with Connor. He would spill the sudden desire to keep him there as the 'doe-eyed bot in front of him was matching him word for word' and that it had been a long while since he had a compelling 'person' to argue with. He would admit to the urge of wanting to keep talking, keep the Negotiator in front of him going.)

Without realizing it, Nines had drifted into a slow torpor, just on the brink of a shutdown. His systems were slowing, and the dark of his Otherworldly power was small, weak. Despite that, he swallowed some thirium that had been in his mouth as his thoughts took all the energy from him. Pain and thirium loss be damned, all he could do was stare at Connor. Connor, his fellow RK who had come here to save him. His words had been bewitching, almost like he was silver-tongued (which was absent from his everyday speech—by that, he meant that Connor cried when talking about newborn puppies; no silver tongue talking about puppies.)

All the time Connor had been speaking, Nines had just wanted to close his eyes (for good) and drift off in order to listen to Connor's voice, one that was a scant higher than his. But no, he had not done that. Instead, he had been enthralled, watching Connor—even through his low energy state—as he drew Boss, lured him in what Nines guessed appealed to the criminal leader.

Connor, with his sleek, black shadows…Connor, with those damningly beautiful glowing eyes in the dark…Connor, with his gentle low voice and silver words…

Nines swallowed again, hard, this time having nothing to do with the thirium leaking into his mouth. To use some of Gavin's favorite language, the main thought that was prominent in his cranial processor was, _Oh, fuck me_. A harsh breath left him.

**[System Alert: Time Until Deactivation— -00:02:30:46]**

[Warning: Thirium Levels—46%]

Suddenly there were hands on him and voices _much_ closer to him than they were before. His head snapped up and optics flew open—when had he closed them?—as he struggled against them. Had Connor not detained Boss? Were these the henchman that had snuck around the DPD? Thankfully, his graying optics and malfunctioning audio processors were able to register, finally, who was in front of him.

"—okay. It's okay—here for you—okay now." A gruff voice, deeper than Connor's, spoke from in front of him. His optics finally registered it to belong to Hank, and Nines was all too relieved. Concerned blue eyes were partially hidden behind his grey hair, and Nines would assent that frazzled was not a good look for the Lieutenant. One large hand was steadying his shoulder while the other was working with a tool behind his back at the chains. A loud _snap_ from the tool and the chains quickly rattled off of him. He slumped forward, exhausted by the very definition of the word, but was caught by the man in front of him.

Hank was saying something, but he only caught garbled parts of it.

Nines dipped in and out again but was aware that he had been shifted over to someone else. "_Nines,"_ he heard them whisper next to his ear, and Nines will blame his stress levels and everything that had happened over the last several hours, but his optics began to sting and leak. A white collar, a neck dotted with moles. Whatever was said next was lost to his shot audio processor, but he knew the owner and was so thankful. He knew that voice, knew that strength under that soft and gentle lowness.

[Interface Request: RK800 313-248-317-51_Connor]

[Accept | Deny]

[**Accept** | Deny]

The feelings of comfort and worry and closeness quickly swept over him through the interface and his shivering nearly doubled from the intensity. He tried to hold back his pain from affecting Connor through the connection, but he doubted it worked with who was now holding him._ [We have you, Nines. I am here, and we are going to get you help. Everything will be okay, I am here.]_

His optics slid shut. Everything was taking its toll on him. His nose was buried in the warmth of Connor's neck as the other began carding his hand through Nines's hair. Words had completely ceased to register to him, but the plain sound of Connor's voice and the vibration of it against him was pleasant…soothing. A harsh gust of wind swept through the warehouse, forcing Nines's body to give an almost violent shudder. Quicker than anything, Connor shifted him—carefully as not to further irritate his injuries—more against him until Nines's chest tilted against Connor's. Although slightly larger and taller than Connor, his predecessor had him fully in his lap. The arm that was not in his hair was across his waist as it cradled him against him.

He felt warm for the first time in hours.

Something not human and dark curled around him, slow and tender, but he did not fear it. His own dark within him welcomed it, reached out to it, a frayed hand of shadow struggling with little power.

He was drifting off, systems steadily slowing for a low power shut down. Slipping into unconsciousness with the reverberation of Connor's voice against his ear, his hands around him, and the interface continuing…he had a final thought before going offline.

_This…This feels nice…_

* * *

Published: 8/12/19

(1) Even though in the game, androids cannot feel pain, pleasure, or temperature, I'm working with the theory that deviants can feel all this. If the YKs can feel temperature, then I feel like deviants should be able to as well. Nines is feeling the cold because it is blowing _directly_ into his open injuries, so it is because of _that_ that the cold is hurting him.

(2) Nines's Hockerty beige long overcoat: (since FF is dumb and doesn't allow links, if you Google Image search 'beige long Hockerty jacket', you can see which one he is wearing.)

(3) His eye mods are from the last fic. The irises of his optics are a glowing blue while the scleras are black.

(4) Pings between androids can be used as a simple attention notification or can be used to transfer very minor, watered down version of emotions. (An interface, on the other hand, is what _really_ can transfer fully in-depth emotions. Think of a ping as carrying a few "drops" of an emotion while an interface can dump the whole "pitcher" of emotion.)

(5) Binary for: _...What...?_

(6) Binary for: _W-What? Where...where am I?_

(7) Binary for: _What ha_—

A/N: If Nines seems a little OOC towards the end, blood loss and severe injuries (along with having one of the few people that you are about in immediate danger) might make a person like that. Thanks to everyone who faved and alerted this fic! :D

A/N 2: I drew fanart for the last chapter! If you go on my tumblr: **elreyciero** and search in the _otherworldly AU_ tag, it will be in there. (I wish I could link it, but again, FF hates links) In addition, I am open for writing commissions! If you are interested, message me here as I can then can give you a link to my commission info.


	3. Thanksgiving

Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human

Rating: T

Words: 10,427

Warnings: language, injuries, character having a breakdown

Hello and happy 2020, everyone! Thank you for your patience! I am on break right now from university, so I've been working on this chapter a little bit every day. I actually wanted to have this done by the end of 2019, but 6 days late doesn't seem too bad. I go back to school next week, so here's a nice long chapter to compensate. :D (I was actually gonna post this last night, but I fell asleep proofreading, rip.)

So here's a nice holiday chapter. Or as I like to call it, Emotional-Vulnerability-and-the-Big-'L'-Word, the-Chapter

* * *

Chapter: 3) Thanksgiving

With all the hecticness that had happened within the last two days—God, was it really Thursday already?—Thanksgiving had encroached on Hank before he had even realized it.

And by encroached on him, he really meant slapped him in the face when he went to pick up some coffee and a few other things this morning at the grocery store with Connor.

Although he had been far too tired to realize the parking lot was much more packed than it usually would be early on a Thursday morning—and yes, he was up early because his body was dumb and wouldn't let him sleep—the rush of people buzzing around him certainly woke him up when he had entered the store. Connor, the traitor, had 'helpfully' informed him that he had thought Hank had already been aware due to the decorations placed all over the house. Cheeky asshole.

After the sequential feelings of tiredness, belated realization, and a small bit of dread, an encroaching panic settled in him when he had remembered that _he had people coming over today, oh fuck_. Thank God only Reed needed to eat human food as Nines (and Connor) would be stuck with thirium-based food stuffs. That had not meant, however, that he had not been disappointed that the store was fresh out of turkeys. Call him old-fashioned in that way, but he had wanted for Connor and Nines's first Thanksgiving to include a turkey as per tradition.

But then again, since when had he been strictly traditional?

So here he was now, sitting on the couch with Connor next to him as they waited for whatever food they had managed to snag to cook. It was eleven in the morning, so they had several hours before the wonder duo came at four. The turkey had to be substituted for a frozen chicken, which Connor had taken liberty to season despite Hank's protests. The older man had ignored his explanation of 'Although I am thankful you wish to do this for me for my first Thanksgiving, your choice of spices is lacking, Hank. While Reed may not the pickiest of eaters, I can assure you with a 99.9% positivity that he would like more than salt and pepper on the chicken.'

Again, Connor was such a cheeky asshole, but Hank wouldn't want it any other way.

With time to kill, they had decided to watch TV. First was catching the morning Macy's Day Parade, to which Connor was utterly fascinated by the creativity of many of the balloons. "Every day I am alive," he continued looking at the TV, "I am astounded by the creativity people have. It is so fascinating to see what people—both humans and androids—can create." Here he turned to Hank and smiled. "It makes me happy that I am alive."

_Ah hell, it's too early to be getting mushy_, Hank thought, a mix of uncomfortable and touched. Instead, what he replied with was, "Sappiness aside, you and me both, Con."

After the Macy's Day Parade, Hank decided it would be a good idea to browse whatever movies were on. Flipping through at least thirty movie channels later—and _no_, he didn't feel like just going to the guide menu, thanks—he decided that a good old classic would be perfect. Everyone loved _A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving_, so he thought that would be a good movie to watch with Connor today.

It was great to see Connor happy and in lighter spirits…because the last day or so had been utter hell for all of them, Connor in particular. Seeing him so distraught in the hospital would forever be burned into Hank's memory…

.

.

.

.

…The drive to the hospital had been one of the most stressful rides of Hank's life. Cutting through the pouring rain at just past three in the morning, his (vice)grip on the steering wheel had been tighter than his knuckles would have liked. The blue and red lights of the ambulance in front of them had flashed and glistened against the rain. It had aggravated the headache behind his eyes. Because Reed had been Nines's emergency contact—most partners were each other's emergency contacts—the other detective had been allowed in the ambulance while Hank and Connor had followed behind.

The last time Hank had been this stressed was—well, it had been both long ago and too soon, and he still had not liked to think about it. Right now, he had been cold, jacket nearly soaked through, and tired beyond belief. But if _he_ had felt like shit, he could have only imagined how his partner had felt.

Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, he had stolen a glance of Connor sitting in the passenger seat next to him.

The man had been sitting in his seat straighter than Hank had seen since he had first met him. 'Machine Connor' would've been an uncomfortably accurate description about his outward appearance. His red LED was bright in the dark, only dissipating when the equally vibrant red of the ambulance light shone through the rain-slicked windows. (If Hank had looked longer than a glance, he would have had noticed the other's eyes flickering crimson against the blue lights.) Connor had been staring straight ahead the entire ride. If it hadn't been for the thin, vibrating shadow curled around Hank's right wrist and the cycling of his LED, he would've thought the other had gone offline or something.

"We'll be there quick, Con," he had said. Its congruent weighted meaning had been _It'll be okay_, but if he had said that aloud, it would have sounded like a promise. And if that promise had gone south—God forbid…Hank had hated to be a liar. He hadn't wanted to promise something he couldn't keep.

There hadn't been a verbal reply, but the tightening grip of the shaking shadow tendril around his wrist spoke volumes.

Hank couldn't have wished to get to the hospital any sooner. For both Nines's and Connor's sakes.

To some immeasurable stroke of luck, it hadn't taken long from them to get to the hospital. As soon as they had pulled up behind the ambulance, Connor had shot from his seat to burst out the door, startling Hank. It had been like watching a low-powered action figure suddenly spring back to life with new batteries. Hank had barely been able to get his keys out of the ignition before following after his partner. It had been a mad rush of lights, yelling (more so on his and Reed's parts as the emergency responders were much calmer), and frantic paces, and before he knew it they were in the hospital watching them wheel Nines in a gurney towards one of the technician's operating rooms.

The emergency responders and nurses had told them they were not to follow.

And it had been at that point that Connor just _lost_ it.

Not Hank, not Reed, but _Connor_ of all people.

In the blink of an eye, Connor had moved forward to walk past the nurses, ignoring their efforts to push him back. He kept repeating statistic after statistic about how they needed him in there—Hank had suspected the statistics might have been made up, but he hadn't called him out on it—about how they had needed someone close to the RK900 model build and that would have been him as an RK800 model.

"No, wait," Connor had pleaded, expression pinched as he grew more and more frantic. "I have to be in there. It is of vital importance, _please_." His efforts to get closer to Nines, pushing at the staff and wringing his hands, had grown in strength. Anxiety had been clear on his face while irritation had been starting to color his movements. "I _need_ to be in there!" Although it had not been quite a yell, as Connor hadn't been prone to raising his voice unnecessarily, it had been jarring to hear him sound so…_distraught_.

"Sir, I understand your situation, but you need to step back and let us help you friend." One of the larger nurses, a man even taller than even Hank, had gently, though firmly, put his hand on Connor's shoulder and tried to guide him away. 'Tried' being the operative word.

Although Reed's comment of, "Fuck, we need to be with him, man!" to one of the emergency responders hadn't been helping, the Detective hadn't been the one to blow up.

Connor's LED had been a frenzied spinning disk of bright red against his temple. Hank had hesitated only for a second before placing himself at Connor's side. When he had settled his hand on the other's elbow, he had been surprised to feel him shaking. It had been minor—insignificant if it had been another person—but in Connor, it had been a red flag. Feeling the tiny tremors had made Hank swallow something painful in his throat. Even worse, the hallway lights had begun to dim and brighten in irregular, pulsing patterns for a chilling couple of seconds—and at that moment, Hank had known he really needed to step in.

He tugged the hand that he had on Connor's elbow, urging him to step back, "Connor." He had tried for calm because he knew anything less would end poorly. His voice was low, something soft he hadn't used since he held a much smaller person in his arms. "C'mon, gotta step aside."

The look Connor sent to him, damn near the definition of betrayed, was excruciating to look at. "No, no, no," he had keened. "I couldn't be there for him in the warehouse, I couldn't be there for him in the ambulance, so _damn it_, let me be there for him now!"

It had been a rarity for Connor to swear, and even more so to use contractions, so it took both Hank and Reed off guard when he did.

"_Oh fuck_," Reed had muttered, looking both uncomfortable and bothered well past his daily threshold. He had exchanged a quick glance at Hank before situating himself at Connor's other side about to place a hand on the side not occupied by Hank. "Heyyyyy, man, look—"

Connor had whipped around and fixed Reed with a look that had frozen him in his tracks. (The nurses had stared for a moment too before remembering they had places to be.) Teary eyes wide and crimson, frame shuddering, and skin so pale it had been starting to go translucent around his hands. It had looked as if one more touch would have crumbled him to pieces.

Hank hadn't blamed Reed from withdrawing his hands. Connor had looked like a bomb was about to go off inside of him, self-destructive and nasty. The hallway was getting colder. Hank had worried what the hell his friend's stress levels were at because at this point, it could not have been healthy in any way. He had pinned an eye on Connor, though, keeping track of how close the android was to any walls—in case he would slam his head—or any tools or machinery—in case he would stab or hit himself.

Despite Connor's…everything, Reed had swallowed whatever undignified noise had escaped him and pushed on anyway. "We understand you—we weren't there for him either, but fuck, it's _none_ of our faults. It's that damn piece of work Boss's fault—him and his no good lackies!" Although he had reached out a hand again, he had not touched Connor and instead chose to hover it over the slender man's back. His other free hand was used to point down the hallway. "Let's, uh, let's get something out of the vending machine. Use your supercomputer brain or whatever to find a map of this place 'cuz it's fucking _huge_. I need something greasy and unhealthy and they might even have some thirium for you in there."

Connor hadn't moved at first, but soon the lights and temperature returned to normal while his eyes dimmed to something more on the mundane brown side. (Hank had suspected the thing with the eyes hadn't even been a conscious decision). He had allowed himself to be guided down the hall, silent, nonetheless. Dangerous.

Fragile.

After that stressful hallway incident, Hank's brain had sort of smeared everything together until the next clear memory was of him in Nines's room after the doctor and nurses had finally allowed them in. Reed had been sprawled out in a chair by the window, legs hanging over one arm of the chair and torso leaning on the other arm. Although not asleep, his eyes had been closed as he had tried to get some sort of rest. Hank had to admit, the Detective had been through an incredibly long day even by their standards. Hank had taken position at the door of the room, a bit too much energy in him to comfortably sit down. Too much of a lot of things, really. He had kept his arms crossed over his chest and eyes locked on two particular figures in the center of the room.

On the blanket-covered technician's table—technically androids didn't need blankets like humans did, but Hank knew the comfort was one most liked and appreciated—had been Nines in low power mode. Most of his clothes had been unsalvageable and had to be removed, therefore leaving him in a hospital gown. He had still been armless, but the damage to his arm ports had been repaired. The technicians had sent for arm components, but being such a rush during an early period in the Wednesday morning before Thanksgiving—four o'clock was too late to be nighttime anyway—the parts were going to be there as soon as possible. (Not soon enough.) His skin had looked more normal and less ghastly—no more cuts or blood leaking everywhere—but that had not meant he looked alright. Even from his spot by the door, Hank had noticed his messy, limp dark hair and yellow LED. It had been…disconcerting to such a force of a man reduced to a state like that.

It would have seemed impossible if not for Hank being in that room right then and there.

That hadn't been the only thing that had set Hank on edge. Although Nines's condition had made him stressed, seeing Connor the way he was had only added to it. The man had refused to go into stasis, even though all signs pointed to him looking like he could have dropped right there. Instead, he had been sitting in a chair he had pulled up right next to the covered technician's table that Nines was on. Ramrod straight in the chair, he could have been mistaken for a statue or even a doll if not for his bright red LED. It had reminded Hank of how Connor used to sit when he first met him—back straight, hands resting on his knee, feet flat on the floor. Now, the only difference had been his eyes all on Nines and a hand on Nines's covered knee.

Hank had felt weary himself. Things just couldn't have been easy, could they?

.

.

.

.

By the time they got to the second movie on their list, _A Winnie the Pooh Thanksgiving_, Hank noticed that Connor was being a little…weird. A quick glance or two made Hank curious, but after a while, he started really paying attention to his friend. Rather than watching the antics of Winnie the Pooh and friends, he was watching Connor stare off into space, the glow of the TV lighting his face. Honestly, Hank wanted to pay attention to the movie, but he was too distracted by Connor's drink that was spilling on his sweater. The android didn't even seem to notice.

_Did he check out or something?_

Connor's sweater was slowly and steadily turning bluer that the soft, creamy tan that it was originally because only half of the warm thirium drink was making its way into his mouth. Even though his mouth was on the rim of the mug, his thirium wasn't really going into his mouth.

The last time Hank remembered seeing anyone _that_ preoccupied was when Chris was pining hard over his wife—oh.

_Oh._

_OH. _

Oh boy, how hadn't he seen it before? Going through the past couple of months in his head, remembering how both Connor and Nines had been acting, it should have been so obvious. With that in mind, Hank felt a gleeful sort of mischief well in him. Being the _great_ friend that he was and Connor's roommate, it was only natural that he got to teasing. _I mean, what am I supposed to do? Leave this alone? Uh, I think __**not**_.

Connor made a shallow slurp, but it only led to more thirium trickling down his chin. Hank snorted. "Con, for the love of God, just _get together_ with your boyfriend already. I ain't doing laundry again until laundry day, and I'm pretty sure you're wasting your blood-drink over there."

The other snapped to attention. An embarrassed pale blue blush colored his face as he peered down at his now soiled sweater. "Oh," was all that he seemed to manage—well, until it seemed his processor brain of his caught up to what the rest of Hank said. His LED blipped into a quick yellow cycle. "Wait, no. I believe you are mistaken as Nines is not my boyfriend," he said as he looked at Hank, still clutching his mug.

"Tell him that."

"Hank!"

* * *

Across the city, unbeknownst to the Detective, Gavin was finding himself in a parallel situation with his own partner. In his apartment which he shared with Nines, he was in the kitchen washing the dishes they had used to cook some stuff to bring to Anderson's place later today. He was still sore from getting jumped on Tuesday and the knot on his head still twinged every once in a while. Even so, a part of him was looking forward to getting out of his apartment for the holiday. Even if it was at Anderson's house.

Next to him stood Nines, steadily drying each dish that Gavin handed to him. In a similar situation with Hank and Connor, Nines had moved in with him after deviating. It had been a little…weird at first, but Gavin found he genuinely enjoyed having this menace as a roommate (and friend, but he wasn't being soft here, c'mon). After being alone by himself with his cats so long after he kicked out his last roommate, the piece of absolute shit, it was nice to have someone else here. Nines could put up with his snark and sass on a level that, dare he say, might have even surpassed Tina, and Gavin could deal with the tinman's own brand of sass, too. Who knew bantering could be so fun? Plus, Count Chocula and Captain Fluff had taken a bizarre immediate liking to Nines, so it hadn't been a bad situation.

The potatoes were boiling on the stove for mashed potatoes later, greens were cooking on low, and the candied bacon was in the oven for—

–_Creeeak_ was the jarring noise that interrupted his train of thought. The sound of metal creaking made him look over to Nines who was just staring out the little window above the sink. Gavin soon realized that the creaking was coming from the cast iron skillet that Nine was holding—the android was slowly crumpling it like tissue paper, 'drying' it one-handed with a towel.

Even though Nines's face was blank due to his robobrain being clearly occupied with something other than drying dishes, Gavin much preferred that over what had been in the hospital. The pulled expression from the pain of severe injuries or the void of a recovering low power mode were not pleasant 'expressions' that had been on Nines's face.

His gaze shifted from his partner's face to his arm, to his hand. His left arm was occupied with the skillet while the right sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt was empty and pinned up with safety pins. _It's a fucking miracle the technicians were able to get an arm component back so damn quickly._ RK900 parts weren't steadily available like those house androids—the AP700's—that were really popular. He thought about it again, focusing on Nines's hand that was buffing away at the skillet with the amount of force he was using to dry it. _Even more of a miracle that he's back in one piece. Better than the alternative… _

.

.

.

.

An android having a breakdown had not been something Gavin knew how to handle.

Like, at all.

Especially one that was all Otherworldly and shit.

Nines's breakdown a little over a month ago had been different. He had been Gavin's partner, so Gavin had known him a little better than the other resident tinman. Not only that, but the murderbot had been Gavin's roommate—they had been living together so it had only been natural that Gavin was able to help his friend for the most part. That breakdown had seemed so much easier than whatever the hell was going on now.

He had guided Connor out of the hallway towards a vending machine somewhere on that floor in order to keep him from getting worse. Then, it had been a pretty good idea, but now it had been just awkward because he hadn't _known what to do_.

Gavin had been squinting at the glass of the vending machine trying to figure out what he wanted. All the stress that he had been with over the last several hours had really taken its toll on his body and he had just wanted some freaking food. Despite all that exhaustion and fatigue, he was determined to keep his eyes on the glass because he had no idea how to help Connor.

The android was just a foot or so next to him, leaning against the side of the vending machine—posture in an _incredibly_ noticeable antithesis from his usual proper primness. His LED had stayed on red and his mind had clearly been somewhere else. Although he hadn't been as bad as he had been in the hallway with Hank, he hadn't been okay (and shit, were _any_ of them at this point?). Looking away at the glass of the vending machine, Gavin had glanced at Connor. The android's eyes had turned back to normal but remained locked with the ground. His hands had been shoved in his pants pockets, so Gavin hadn't been able to tell in the skin around them still had been translucent or not. The hallway had been chilly, but he hadn't been sure if that was because of Connor or the cold seeping from the old windows.

He had sighed, selected the options for a bag of Lays chips, a cream cheese Danish, an iced coffee, and a small bottle of thirium. With his own snacks under his arm, he had held the thirium under Connor's face until it snapped to focus on it. He had watched the man slowly blink before lifting his head to look at him.

"You're gonna keel over if you don't have some of this blood of yours," he had rolled his eyes, discomfort growing. _Just take the thing already, I'm trying to be nice!_ "It's blueberry-flavored so it doesn't taste like the regular shit—or so I've heard. Just take it."

It had seemed like an eternity before Connor had straightened up from leaning against the vending machine—it was almost like watching an old battery-powered action figure come back to life—and took the drink in his hand. He hadn't said 'thank you' but the nod he got in return as they started walking back had been one of quiet gratitude.

Gavin would have never admitted it, but he was relieved to not see him looking like a zombie.

He had stuffed the snacks in the pockets of his jacket in order to get to the thing he truly, truly needed: the coffee. He could snack in the room, but he had felt like he needed a bit more time before he went back. Coffee and a quiet moment had been how he could collect himself right now outside his usual method of either petting his cats or going on a ride on his bike. Neither option had been available.

With a click of the screwcap, he had taken a long swig of the coffee and leant against the wall. He had sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He hated this.

"Gavin…"

Connor's quiet voice, rough and crackled with static in the beginning, had jarred him and made him look at him. He still hadn't opened his thirium. "Yeah, tinman?"

The other man had been quiet for a while after that, but something in Gavin told him not to rush him. A few minutes later, Connor had continued, "I don't…I don't know what to do…"

He could have laughed in relief at such a statement, because Gavin actually had known the answer to it. _But same, you and me both_. "As much as it sucks ass, we just have to wait. You've been in hospitals."

Apparently, that hadn't been what Connor had meant as he shook his head. "Not that. I feel something, and…I don't know how to process it."

Gavin had winced, taking another swig of the cheap coffee. "I'm not the most emotionally literate person on the planet, ask Tina, so you may be barking up the wrong tree." As he had said that, he bit his lip has he watched Connor's LED cycle a very strong pulse of a brighter red than it had been on, so he added, "That doesn't mean I can't hear what you got to say though. I was just giving you a warning, is all." Even though he was an asshole hadn't mean he couldn't have listened to his coworker talk as their mutual friend was laid up on a technician's table, literally rescued from a kidnapping.

Connor looked to collect himself for whatever he had been going to say before looking at Gavin. "I can understand emotions and have felt them in many ranges myself," he began slowly, "but what I felt back there was…different."

Well yeah, that had been obvious to everyone. "That was rage, man. Even I could see that. Everyone has been through a shitty feeling like that."

If he had been anyone else, someone that hadn't been working with two Otherworldly androids, he would have missed the room's lights dimming subtly as they were. It had almost felt like a sadness had been smothering them. "You misunderstand. I can't tell Hank, but I…I have to confess…"

The pause had seemed deliberate, almost as if Connor had been giving Gavin a way out of the conversation. Gavin had moved closer to where Connor was to let him know he was still paying attention. The tone of the hallway, the atmosphere between them, had shifted to something that even someone with a skull as thick as Gavin's could understand to be severe. Something he couldn't have told even Hank, huh? _Fuck, this is going to be way out of my league. Of all people, why is he telling __**me**__?_ But like Gavin had said, he wasn't as much of an asshole not to listen to him.

The vending machine's shadow had crawled on the floor to twine around one of Connor's hands that had still been holding his unopened thirium. "I was so angry…so ready to get rid of that man that caused all this to happen. My abilities," he had pointedly raised the wrist the shadow was curled around, "have been an enigma even to myself, sometimes. I have been feeling very off since we rescued Nines."

This hadn't been an emotion they were talking about, Gavin realized.

(It had to have been more dangerous than an emotion for Connor to act like this, his gut had been telling him. Gavin had been a good detective whose gut had never failed him.)

"Whatever it is, it feels awful and heavy." The vending machine shadow that had manifested now had shivered before dissolving into wisps. The wisps had lingered in the air a bit too long. "It is foreign, something _dark_, and…I feel _off_, not like myself…" He had swallowed as he trailed off, and he had appeared as if he had wanted to rub his hands together before remembering he couldn't with them holding the thirium.

Before he could spiral into something Gavin wouldn't have been able to pull him from—Christ, Anderson would have been so much better for this—he had poked him in the arm. "Well whatever the hell it is, don't keep it to yourself. It'll make it worse. I don't know a ton about Other abilities and that shit, but I know feeling and emotions and that kind of junk makes them better or worse. You got a whole team of people that like you—a bunch of people that are more feelsy than me. So, why don't we go back to the room so we can all get through this, get Nines home, and see the team whenever we go back to work, eh?" People were going to accuse Gavin for being soft, hell.

Although Connor hadn't looked much better, despite there being an element to surprise at Gavin's honesty, he had seemed to take what Gavin had said to heart.

"Thank you," the pale man had rasped.

"Don't mention it, please."

When they had gotten back to Nines's room, Anderson had taken a place in one of the chairs. He had looked antsy and uncomfortable and his clothes and hair were still damp from the shit weather. If Gavin had felt like sleep was about to claim him, Hank had looked like he was walking in tandem with it. Hell, in the time Gavin had been gone with Connor to the vending machine, it had looked like the older man had aged like five extra years. When he had looked up at Gavin and Connor entering the room, Gavin had seen that his eyes were red rimmed from exhaustion, a little sallow.

Before his brain could slam a filter on his mouth, he had blurted out, "Jesus Christ, Anderson, you look like shit."

Luckily, it had been well-received as the Lieutenant just snorted. He wiped a hand over his face before standing up, wincing at something being pulled not right with the motion. "And you look no better," he had replied without heat. "Here," he had said as he unclipped the holo-clipboard from the end of the technician table (bed thing?) and handed it to Gavin.

"And _you_," Anderson had placed gentle hands on Connor's shoulders as he parked the man in the seat next to Nines. "Don't move there. Just…drink you thirium and rest."

Connor hadn't said anything, just had given a barely-there nod. The click of the cap being opened on the thirium bottle had seemed louder in the room than it should have been.

"What's this?" Gavin had asked automatically even as he had started swiping through the holo-clipboard. Medical images of scans and readings and charts and a bunch of other stuff that his brain couldn't have handled at this hour had shone bright in front of his eyes.

Rather than a direct answer, Anderson had supplied him with a tired, "You partner was really put through the ringer."

It had been a very weighted statement, and it hadn't made Gavin feel better about what he had been looking at. The speed he had been swiping the tablet screen at slowed considerably as he took in all the readings and shit with a more attentive focus. Some stuff he had known that he just didn't understand—he wasn't an android technician after all—but _holy fuck_, all the other stuff he did get made him queasy. There was line after line, readout after readout of the sheer extent of injuries and damages that Nines had suffered. Gavin had known and seen firsthand that they had gotten to Nines just in time, yet seeing all this broken down on the holo-clipboard in his hands had been making it so much worse.

_-Severe thirium loss: levels at 40% upon hospital entry; thirium lines around arm ports and neck damaged—evidence of rupturing and tearing_

_-Missing components: Biocomponent #9077a (left arm component) and Biocomponent #9537b (right arm component)_

_-Malfunctioning audio processors: Biocomponent #2251a (left audio processor) completely damaged; Biocomponent #2263b (right audio processor) partially damaged—low performance levels_

_-Damage to chassis: shoulder ports show extreme damage—evidence of arms being forcefully yanked from ports; neck port showing signs of extreme electrical damage; right flank dented; other miscellaneous cuts to surface of chassis_

_-Electrical damage: synthskin surrounding right flank and neck port, in particular, damaged; malfunctioning respiratory systems—clicking in damaged Biocomponent #8937 (left lung component); malfunctioning audio processors; optic damage_

_-System lag: 0.78 second delay action-to-commands (redo test when patient awakens)_

_-Critical shutdown had been too close upon hospital entry—keep patient monitored for 24 hours in case of complications_

"Oh my God," he had breathed shallowly, the air in his body having felt like it had been stolen from him. Holy shit. The report had made it an actual reality: Nines had been really fucking close to dyi—to not being here anymore.

And Gavin hadn't quite known what to do with that information.

He had felt exhausted, the knot on his head—including his entire body from being jumped—had felt sore, he was uncomfortably damp from the rain, and his partner had almost stopped being his partner permanently—his _friend_ had almost been fucking killed. Suddenly, whatever energy that had been left in his body had evaporated, and he hated to admit that Anderson's quick grip on his arm had kept him from sliding against the wall down onto the floor. He had somehow been maneuvered to the chair that Anderson had been sitting in by the window within the blink of an eye.

"I'm gonna get cleaned up, grab us something dry, and uh," his eyes flicked to Connor and Nines before closing for a moment, "try and grab a nurse or technician or something that can give us an update. Just…stay there until I get back."

"Don't really got a choice," Gavin had croaked.

The sound of the door closing, the beeping of the monitors, and the sight of Connor looking like literal hell in front of him had all smudged together in his brain. He hadn't remembered much of what had happened directly after that.

Fast forward a few hours later in the room, and Gavin had been reacquainted with consciousness—no he had not fallen asleep, he had just rested his eyes. There had been a pain in his neck caused from his position in the chair, but he'd had worse before. From the sound of it, the rain had ceased sometime in the few hours he had dozed rested his eyes. Thank God. The absence of it pounding against the building had made the sounds of whatever the hell had woken him up even more prominent. Something had told him not to move, so instead of stretching wide and wiping his eyes—a manner not unlike his cats, Nines had commented before—like he normally would have, he stayed still in his chair, breathing as close to the same rhythm as before.

Eyes just barely squinted, he had been met with the sight of something that, maybe in hindsight, he hadn't been supposed to see. Through his eyelashes, he had seen Nines, a little disoriented and clearly not himself fully, being held tightly Connor. Nines had been half-propped up, mostly being supported by pillows. His skin had gotten back some color to it thanks to the thirium, but when in direct comparison to Connor, he had still looked a little to close to a shutdown to be comfortable. The RK800 had been clinging to the other android as if he possessed the grip strength of an RK900.

They had been speaking in low tones, but Gavin had still been able to hear what they were saying. "I'm so glad that I didn't lose you," Connor had whispered as he curled himself closer to Nines. It had been as if the guy had been trying to use every inch of his frame to shield the bed-ridden android from anything and everything. "I was…You were so close to being gone." Two tendrils of shadows from the dark space underneath the technician table had risen to curl around both of them, one long tendril wrapping around them both and the other coiling around Nines's middle. The embrace had deepened, one of Connor's arms around Nines's shoulder, being delicately careful of his ports, and the other coming to hold the back of the other's head, fingers in his hair.

Although Nines had not been himself fully, he seemed to enjoy being held by Connor. He had closed his eyes, taken a breath like a deep sigh, and laid his head against Connor's collarbone. "Eights," he had started, voice still crackling from static that was just slightly better than before, "Connor…I thought I would never see you again. Any of you." It had taken a moment, but despite shaking and flickering the entire way up, a single shadow hand had reached up to stroke Connor's cheek with its small palm and tiny black fingers. If even possible, Connor had pressed himself closer to Nines, leaning into the shadow hand.

The whole thing had been incredibly intimate and personal, and Gavin had doubted that either of them knew he was awake with how absorbed they were in the other; totally understandable. He understood that they had been having a moment. He had felt like he was intruding, so he had closed his eyes fully and pretended to still be asleep.

He could celebrate his partner not being dead a little later.

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.

.

Still looking at Nines, whose head was currently way up in the atmosphere right now, he scoffed and rolled his eyes. He flicked a handful of suds at the distracted man's face.

The action did its job as Nines jolted out of his daydreaming. His face did something funny with his eyebrows and mouth as he demanded, "Is there any particular reason why you are attacking me with dirty dish suds? Surely even you can behave on a holiday."

At this point, Gavin was becoming good at dealing with and reading Nines, so instead of taking it to heart, all he met Nines with was, "If you don't tell your Bambi-double boyfriend of yours how you feel, I'm gonna train the cats to pee on you."

Although the beginning of his roommate's rebuttal was that the precious Count Chocula and Captain fluff would _never_ turn against him, the first part of Gavin's snark seemed to finally filter through his processor. He immediately gave him a flat look. "Connor is not my boyfriend, and androids have no gender. Neither of us technically have a gender, so we could not be boyfriends." He turned his head pointedly to focus on the same bent skillet he had been drying, still one-handed. "Additionally, there is nothing to admit."

Now, Nines may have been gifted with some fancy-smancy robo-brain or whatever the hell, but Gavin wasn't a detective for nothing. He could tell that Nines was spouting technicalities one after another as his way to deflect. "Tell that to my skillet," he pointed with the sponge in his own slightly pruney hand, snorting. Gavin, the gay trans cop who routinely destroyed jerk-off assailants of victims who had been freer with their own gender identities, rolled his eyes. "And don't you spiel gender at me. You both have said you're comfortable with male gender identities—so _boy_friends, then."

Nines's face didn't quite color in the manner of a blush, but he did bare his sharp teeth at Gavin instead.

Although it may have taken him by surprise at the Halloween party and scared him—he hadn't been expecting it, give him a break—it did none of that right now. He blinked, bored. "I said what I said."

"I regret living here."

"You love the cats too much to move."

Nines scowled, but he didn't move as Count Chocula padded into the kitchen and started rubbing against his legs. He looked down and sighed at the adorable thing, an exhale that was uncharacteristically long-suffering (which made it hilarious for Gavin), "Why must you torment me so? I am military-grade and can kill one-hundred people with ease. You are trying my patience with your big eyes and fluffy ears and purring. Stop being cute."

Count Chocula, now with Captain Fluff in tow, just meowed at the android, distinctly pleased.

Gavin was about to bust a rib from holding his laughter in. "So, how about we check on the food?"

* * *

Five o'clock rolled around faster than Connor could have registered. Before either Hank or him knew it, the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of their guests.

Or rather, Sumo had bounded to the door—as fast as an old good boy like him could—and woofed at them until Hank and Connor came near. Connor smiled at the dog, petting his head. Sumo just bumped his head against it and wagged his tail as he stared at the door, already eager to see who would come in.

Dogs were such wonderful creatures.

Hank, wearing a nicer button-up shirt than usual thanks to Connor, grumbled when the doorbell rang again, this time three successions in a row. "Alright, alright already. Dammit, I know it's you doing that, Reed." Before unlocking the door, looking—dare Connor say, as pathetic as possible, he looked over his shoulder and muttered under his breath towards Connor. "Why the hell did I agree to do this again?" His expression was pulled in great annoyance and early dismay, and it amused Connor immensely.

He made sure to let his friend now just so, quirking his mouth in a way that made Hank frown harder. "Because you genuinely care about us and wanted to do something for Nines and I's first Thanksgiving." He nodded his head towards Sumo, who bumped against Connor's leg when he realized there was attention on him, "And Sumo would be sad if he did not get more pets from just you and me. He enjoys Nines's scritches and pets on an equal level to mine."

Connor could play the guilt card and do so well.

After all, manipulation was in his programming.

Hank looked at him for a moment longer before groaning towards the ceiling, only to, purposefully, groan in a much louder tone when the doorbell shrieked yet again. "_Okay_! God, how is this my life now?"

Once the door was opened, they were met with Gavin's smirking face and his finger still lifted to the doorbell. He had cleaned up well, a clean-shaven face and fresh dark t-shirt underneath a thick jacket. He looked as pleased as one of his cats. (Not that the Detective would have shown Connor a photo of his cat himself; Connor had been given the pleasure of seeing the adorable Count Chocula and Captain Fluff thanks to Nines.) It was interesting, to say the least, to see the Detective's face make such an—_would the correct word be 'unholy?'_—unholy look of glee outside of scheming with Tina. Honestly, it impressed Connor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Gavin drawled as he slowly lowered his finger, all the while making direct eye contact with Hank, "did I bother you, Anderson?"

Before Hank could say anything, Nines brushed passed him holding a tray in his one arm. "Please behave yourself, Gavin. It is a holiday, and we are the guests." To Hank, his tone was a more amicable one, "Happy Thanksgiving, Lieutenant. A sincere thank you for hosting us this evening."

Hank gave them room to enter before closing the door behind them. He waved a dismissive hand, "No thanks needed. Just thought you and Con should have _some_ good experiences for the holidays. I can put up with Reed just fine."

"I'm right here, ya know."

"Trust me, I'm aware."

Any further exchange between the two men went unnoticed to Connor as he looked at Nines. He still looked paler than normal, but it was a blessing that some color had returned to his face. Connor tried not to think about how he looked in the hospital, synthskin nearly translucent and build-lines visible through it. Despite looking tired, his clean hair, sleek black button-up, silver tie, and neat—_oh rA9, those pants are…tight_—gray pants made for an incredibly pleasing image to his optics. He noticed that even though the jacket Nines was wearing was not his favorite beige long jacket, he had managed to find a replacement of the same length. This one was a nice light, warm-toned brown which made Nines look more like himself. The sleeve of his right arm was tucked into the pocket of the jacket.

He was alive.

He was here.

He was beautiful.

Connor took a photo with his optics to tuck into a neat corner of his memory banks.

There were a lot of emotions that were flying through his code right now: relief, happiness, anxiety, and something that was making his regulator skip even despite his diagnostics saying he was fully functional. To hide the urge to wring his hands in the nervousness that seemed to be flowing through his chassis, he clenched them behind his back in what he was aware was a stiff parade rest. "Happy Thanksgiving, Nines. I am relieved you two made it here without complication." He winced a bit. _I sounded far too formal. Would that be off-putting? Unwelcoming?_

Perhaps he should have been grateful that his phrasing had not been picked up as Gavin just rolled past him, giving him a look. "And what's that supposed so mean, tin man? You think I couldn't get us here fine?" He set down the three containers he was holding on the table and crossed his arms.

"Getting into a self-driving car doesn't count as doing any work to get your asses here," Hank snorted as he guided an eager Sumo back into the living room.

Thankfully, Nines had also not taken note of his stiffness as he ignored Gavin. "Happy Thanksgiving, Eights," he aimed a small smile towards Connor. "It is good to see you."

Was Connor's regulator malfunctioning? Possibly.

Was he about to have a regulator attack right now? A high probability.

"Likewise," was about all he trusted himself to say. To his greatest relief, Sumo managed to get away from Hank and bustled back up to Connor who was glad to use the distraction of giving him more pets in order not to incriminate himself further and say something he, perhaps, should not.

After seeming to be satisfied with what Connor could give him, Sumo shuffled over to Nines, bumping his knees with this nose. Connor watched with great attention as Nines tilted his head towards Sumo before looking at the tray in his hand. Holding the tray behind his back, he knelt down to give Sumo some attention, but was not able to touch him without another hand. Connor could tell that his successor was beginning to feel frustration with his lack of an arm, so he stepped in to grab the tray so that Nines could have a free hand. As he bent over, their fingers brushed as he grabbed the tray, sending a jolt through his chassis even despite the lack of an interface. His optics jumped to meet Nines's slightly wide blue ones.

When did their faces get so close together?

"Hey, Con!" Hank's voice broke the moment, which startled him into standing up straight and spinning on his heel to meet the older man. The pan was clutched in his hands, grip tight. "C'mon, man, I don't know about you, but I am _pretty_ hungry here. Can't have Thanksgiving if we don't eat."

He gave a quick glance back at Nines, who had straightened from his own crouch and was now occupying himself with removing his jacket, before going to the kitchen. "…Of course."

An odd thought crossed his mind as he took note of the state of the tray he was holding. _Why does this have finger dents in it…?_

_._

_._

_._

_._

Thanksgiving was interesting, to say the least. The amount of bickering between Hank and Gavin had, so far, been surprisingly minimal; however, that could have been attributed to the fact that there was so much food being laid out on the table. Hank and Connor had provided the chicken, the stuffing, and sparkling thirium, while Gavin and Nines had brought mashed potatoes, greens, a creamed thirium desert that seemed to be similar to pudding, and an odd dish of candied bacon—the bacon was incredibly unhealthy, Connor's systems providing every bit of nutritional information. The levels of sodium and sugar were high, as were the cholesterol, fat, and calories—_Do not even get me started on the calories!_ The selection was a nice spread, and although Connor could not smell in the exact way that humans could, his olfactory sensors in his nose allowed him to enjoy the scents in his own way, nonetheless.

With everything finally on the table, they all seated themselves: Gavin and Hank across from one another and Nines across from Connor himself. The weather was cold outside but being close to the people he cared about made him feel warm. Cozy, even. The last holiday had included much more of the DPD, and although that Halloween party had been quite fun, this seemed much more like an intimate affair. The decorations Connor had set up two days ago added to the atmosphere, giving a homey and cheerful note to the house.

"Now that we're all at the lunch table like good little school kids," Hank began as he pointed with his fork to everyone, "I think we should say what the heck we're thankful for. It's been a long ass year since last November."

"Christ, don't get sappy on us, Anderson," Gavin took hold of his glass, tapping his finger against it. "You sound so old-fashioned. But, if you wanna be like that, why don't you start then?"

Hank rolled his eyes but did not object to it. He raised his beer—the first one he had the whole month—and said, "I'm not one for grand speeches or anything, but I am thankful we made it through another year—being a cop doesn't guarantee you a long life expectancy—"

"Only if you are not careful," Gavin cut it with a drawl before wincing as Nines lightly kicked him underneath the table.

"Shut up, Reed. _Anyway_, like I was saying, I'm glad to see another year. Last year I was an old washed up Lieutenant who was chasing the bottom of a bottle almost every night, and now I've got my career back on track thanks to Smart Ass One here," he jutted his bottle at Connor who blinked at him innocently, "Smart Ass Two, Terminator Edition," Nines was next who nodded in full agreement at Hanks, "and Pain In My Ass right there," he sighed, looking at Gavin. "Oh, and not to mention, a whole ass revolution." He took a long swig of his beer.

"Gee, nice to know you care, Anderson. Didn't know I had such an astounding effect on you."

"I can always kick you out."

"I'll take my food back. My turn then," Gavin cleared his throat with a level of drama that Connor had only seen with Tina. "Unlike Anderson over here, I'm gonna make this short so we can hurry up and eat. I'm thankful for my job, my apartment still holding up, my cats, and uhh," here he cleared his throat and muttered out in a speed where his words almost blurred together, _"mycoworkersandthesetwotinmen._"

Connor was able to pick out what he had said, but Hank just squinted at him.

Nines, who Connor knew took great pleasure in poking at the Detective, said as calm as ever with a bemused lilt to his mouth, "For those who do not speak gibberish, perhaps you would care to repeat that?"

It was almost painful to watch the Detective clench his jaw as he gritted out, "My. Coworkers. And. These. Two. Tinmen. There, you happy?" His ears were turning red faster Connor would have thought possible. The man was so allergic to his feelings. He chugged almost all of his cider from his glass, and it did not take an investigative model like Connor to know that he was getting uncomfortable with all the attention.

"Immensely."

"Since you wanna speak, why don't _you_ say what you're thankful for?"

"I shall." Nines appeared to take a moment to think about what he would say. He did not make eye contact with them as he spoke, instead staring at his glass of sparking thirium. His LED blipped a slow yellow. "I am thankful that I am able to be here. I had not expected to wake up in the hospital…I thought I was going to be permanently deactivated. So, thank you for being there for me. That is all." The sip of his thirium was a deliberate one.

Connor felt that Nines should not have to thank them for rescuing him—of course they would go to him, they always would. Connor would always do what he could for his successor. On the outside, he did not react much as he knew Nines would have disliked anyone making a big deal out of it. However, he sent a ping of _comfort-caring-gratitude-warmth_ to him to let him know he was equally thankful that he was here with them.

The ping from Nines of _thankfulness-relief-comfort_ was sent quickly.

"Fuckin A, you thought we would have just left you with those bastards?" Gavin's tone was acerbic, but the hostility was not aimed at Nines. More so, aimed at the people who took him. "Well, kick that thought to the curb, idiot. You're here, and we want you here, so that's that."

"I don't often agree with Reed, but yeah," Hank leaned over to clap a hand on Nines's soldier, who looked like he appreciated the physical contact. "We're glad as hell that you're here."

Nines gave no verbal reply. He dipped his head in a nod as he drank again from his glass. His LED cycled the briefest of reds before skipping back to fast-paced yellow. As such, Connor knew it would perhaps be best to divert the attention away from the other android.

"I agree." His human friends might be a little off-put with his with his less than verbose verbal reply, but the additional ping of _warmth-comfort-comfort-caring_ could express more of what he wanted than words could short of an interface. He continued. "Now, how am I to top all that? I feel like I am about to be repetitive," Connor took his sparkling thirium in hand. Indeed, what _was_ he going to say? He swirled his glass in order to give him some time to choose his words. He was thankful for many, upon many of things. How on earth was he to choose which to say? "I…am perhaps most thankful that I have you all in my life." Although his words were for all three men, his optics remained trained on Nines. It gave him the courage to continue," I am thankful that you are here and have accepted me for who I am. For assisting me, along with the rest of the DPD, through my deviancy. Last November, I could have never imagined my life being like this."

It was quiet as they took in what he said, but not an uncomfortable sort. "Lord, you two are going to be the death of me. You don't have to thank us for being your friends, you dolt." Hank's groan was the opposite of distressed, so Connor felt comfortable enough to answer him with a soft smile.

Gavin's characteristically unimpressed grunt was a comfort. "Gonna get cavities. Ugh, I may be an asshole, but I'm a better asshole than last year. We're not gonna dump your asses somewhere. Now, c'mon, I'm gonna turn into a skeleton here."

With that, they clanked their drinks together and dug in.

Dinner was going well. Other than a few incidents involving spilt thirium that Connor would have more than liked to erase from his memory, he could not complain. It was easy to let the chatter of everyone to wash over him and relax him. The sparking thirium was delicious and he rather liked the taste and consistency of the thirium pudding. He had never tried thirium pudding before, but it was delightful! From the quick scan of the package, he determined it was from Sally's Sweets, the same company that made Nines's favorite snacks. While he and Nines enjoyed their own treats, their human friends tucked away their own food with gusto. _I know they should slow down, but I will let them be for today._

He also chose to ignore them sneaking table scraps to Sumo what with the special occasion.

After dinner—and Hank _insisting_ that Connor and Nines were not so much as allowed to touch a dish to wash—they migrated into the living room. Games were deemed the next step of the holiday.

However, soon after they started the games, Hank and Gavin were close to rioting. With their predictive programming, scanners, and vast access to databases, both Nines and Connor were too skilled at Pictionary. It took them a short amount of time to guess Hank and Gavin's pictures, and although their own drawings were not up to Markus's standards, they were more legible than the humans' attempts.

Twister, which followed, lasted two games.

Gavin and Hank gave up after the first after Connor battled it out with Nines. It was at a time like this where Nines's larger body and added height did not aid him in an endeavor. Connor had much more flexibility, and it made him laugh when Gavin disgustedly commented he should not be able to contort his body in such a way. (Or rather, to quote him, _'Jesus Christ, if I see you your spine turn any more, I might actually throw up.'_)

The second game was Nines alone simply for him to see how far he could push and twist himself. He had been doing a quite a good job, even with the lack of an arm. Hank egged him on even as Gavin grew more and more uncomfortable. Connor, on the other hand, took the opportunity of not playing to observe the way Nines twisted and bent his body. He took another photo with his optics as he tried to hack away the heat on his cheeks.

Gavin screamed when Nines bent his leg far behind his head with inhuman ease.

Twister was banned.

The atmosphere of the house calmed as they settled in to prepare for more movies. It was lazy, which was something Connor did not have a chance to experience often without some note of guilt. He was always busy, but that was just part of his core self. (Part of his programming, if he were to be honest.) Sumo plopped next to him, and he was more than happy to give him all the attention he wanted. Any tension that Connor did not know he was holding in his body melted away—petting Sumo and taking in the laziness of everyone lulled him. It was nice.

Perhaps it was this calmness that made Nines speaking up suddenly startle Connor.

"I know I have already spoken earlier, but I actually wanted to say something else while you all are here," Nines stood up, lifting his refilled glass of sparkling thirium off the coffee table. Connor knew that Nines was not one for long speeches, so both he and the other two men in the room were surprised that he was going to go out of his way to speak his mind. Nines looked at them each individually. The tank of a man, powerful and tall, spoke delicately, careful of each of his words as he said them, "As Hank has said, it has indeed been a long year since last November. Although I was not activated until after the revolution, it has been a very…difficult year. I am thankful that I am able to be here with…" his optics slid to Connor's as he continued, and Connor might as well just have shut down right there, "the people that care about me and whom I care about in turn. Deviancy has been both a blessing and a difficulty, but I am fortunate enough to have those that can help me navigate it. I have come across the term 'found family,' and I have found it appropriate to describe all of you. I am thankful that I have found friends and a family in you."

Connor gasped softly and his optics pricked as fluid threatened to leak. "Oh, Nines…"

"Fuck, you're gonna make an old man cry," Hank got up from the couch and was quick to pull Nines into a hug. Hank's hugs, from Connor's experience, were the best. Nines wrapped his arm around the older man with a tight grip on the back of his shirt.

"Don't you fuckin' cry, Anderson," Gavin threatened, voice sounding more fragile that normal. "And Nines, if you shed one tear and make me cry, I'm banning you from the cats." The threat was weakened by him clearing his throat and scratching one of his eyes.

Even Sumo seemed to sense the change in mood. The old dog shuffled to Nines and Hank and stood up to press his weight on Nines's chest.

Nines laughed, emotion making static cling thick to his voice, and balanced the dog. He petted Sumo's neck as he tilted his face away in order to not get dog slobber all over it. "Good boy. I am okay, thank you."

All throughout the rest of the night, all Connor could do was to keep sneaking glances at Nines when he was not looking. Through entertaining Sumo and the two following movies, he kept observing, kept stealing looks.

…_I think I may be in love with him._

* * *

Published: 1/6/2020

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has faved and followed so far. And thank you to **WolftenDragon** for reviewing last chapter! :D

A/N 2: Wow, it finally took 3 whole segments of this series for Connor to finally even think about Love. I plan for more antics and shenanigans involving this in the future

A/N 3: If you like my stuff, you can mind me on **Twitter: el_rey_ciervo**, and on **Tumblr **(more active than my twitter)**: elreyciervo**


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